The Nolde, or There and Back Again
by BarbaraKaterina
Summary: This is the story of Artanis Nerwen, later known as Galadriel. The story of how she left, and how she came back, and all that happened in between. (Nolde - a female Noldo) / Do you realize, Lord Laurefindil, that of all the people present in Middle-Earth now, I have known you the longest?
1. Unquiet

AN: I decided to write this because while Galadriel is very dear to me as a character, I think Tolkien struggled a little with her characterization – as shown by the many different versions of her story in the Unfinished Tales – and so I wanted to get a clearer grasp of her. Also, he states in the UT that she was one of the wisest Noldor and that her power could equal that of Feanor, and she left Aman to found a kingdom of her own, and yet then we see her settling down in Doriath and not intervening with the story at all basically until LOTR, because she was a woman, I guess (see: struggling with her characterization). So I decided I was having none of that. At the same time, this story is canon – which took quite a bit of work at some points, believe me.

I treat The Silmarillion as the normative canon (with the exception of the parentage of Gil-Galad and all that's related to it). I sometimes use something that is in the Unfinished Tales, and sometimes ignore it – there are so many versions, after all.

As for dating, just a reminder, those are Valian years here, which equal ten Sun years. So Galadriel isn't actually thirty at this point in the story, she is over three hundred.

And I will be using Quenya names – the key is in the AN bellow, for those who need it.

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 **Chapter 1: Unquiet**

 _Year 1399 of the Trees, Tirion_

There were times when Nerwen wondered if she was the only fey person in the whole of Aman.

Or – when she was feeling more prideful – the only sane one.

She stood on a balcony of her father's house in Tirion, looking over the Bay of Eldamar, her back turned to the Trees, and she was absurdly trying to catch a glimpse of Middle-Earth. She knew she never could, but she always tried.

She often asked her grandfather Olwë about it, but he didn't much like remembering it and could only offer her bits and pieces, a lot of them about darkness. And yet...when so many elves choose to stay behind, it couldn't have been all bad, could it?

She sighed. Valinor was supposed to be the blessed land, one that offered peace to all, so why did she have none? That was why she wondered if she was insane.

Her brothers' laugher sounded from the inside, and she sighed again. Much as she loved them, she frequently felt that they inherited either their father's mild character, or their mother's imperturbable nature, while she was the only one born with true Noldor fire. They never understood her, though they loved her in turn. Their happiness in the Undying Lands was marred by nothing.

In Nerwen's present state of mind, their laugher grated on her nerves, and so she turned her steps to her uncle's house.

Her uncles, both of them, were a very different story. No one could accuse them of lacking in fire. Indeed, Curufinwë sometimes seemed to be made of nothing but fire. But it was not his house to which Nerwen was headed, even though she was one of the few descendants of Indis he spoke to willingly.

No, her relationship with that uncle was a complicated one. She could not help but admire him, his skill and strength of spirit, but she could also not miss his clear lack of wisdom, and it worried her. If she, still so young, could see it...how was such a failing possible in one of similarly strong mind? It scared her, among other reasons because it taught her that her own strength and cleverness was no guarantee that she would avoid mistakes. It drove her to more caution than her oldest uncle could respect, but still, they understood each other on some deep level. Something that was another reason for worry for Nerwen, when she watched this uncle sometimes.

Her footsteps now, however, were directed to Ñolofinwë's house, where those closest to her in mind dwelt. Both her younger uncle and his eldest son understood Nerwen more than her nearest kin ever did, and she passed much time in their company, a good portion of it spent by talking of Middle-Earth. Yet there was a difference there still, the reason why she sometime sought Fëanáro's company, despite her misgivings. While Ñolofinwë and Findekáno liked talking about the far away lands and the realms one could rule there, Nerwen knew that for them, it was just a distant idea, one they quite liked, but still nothing more than idle speculation. For her, it was an acutely felt unquiet.

As she approached Ñolofinwë's house, however, a voice from the inside reminded her why she didn't spend even more time with her father's brother. Turukáno, her other cousin, did not quite have Findekáno's fire, and sometimes it seemed to her that he inherited the worst from both the Noldor and the Teleri, to whom his mother was kin. Nerwen saw traces of Fëanáro's pride and harshness in him, but in an unfortunate combination with selfishness and lack of valour. When she could hear Irissë reply to him, she turned her steps away again, because Irissë, while being an opposite to her brother in many ways, was somehow only worse, and Nerwen did not have the strength now to deal with her cousin's arrogance.

As she walked, now headed to more distant places, she mused about Irissë. It had been assumed for a long time that a friendship would grow between them, as they were close relations, both of them Noldorin princesses, and born on the same day. But the only thing they were similar in was pride, though Nerwen, ungenerous as it was, usually added to that assessment that she at least had a little more to be prideful of. Irissë was like the younger of her brothers in that she never sought wisdom, and her independence was closer to hard-headedness. Nerwen often mourned the loss of the friend she could have had in her.

Her steps took her to Valimar, and she considered stopping by her grandmother's relations, but just as she left her father and brothers because her spirit was too restless for them at the moment, she knew the Vanyar would not sit with her well at this time. No, when she felt like this, they only made her feel guilty, because their contentment always seemed absolute, and with them, contrary to her brothers, it never seemed like a weakness to Nerwen. They, after all, weren't Noldor.

No, when her heart grew this unsettled, she knew there was only one place for her to go, and so she stretched her steps and headed to the Gardens of Lórien.

She sometimes laughed about that, because of the Great Ladies, Estë was one of those who were furthest from her own nature, yet she spent the most time with her – or rather, that was why. More fire would have hardly calmed her. And besides, Nerwen felt closest to the Queen of Arda, but the greatest of Valier rarely ever descended from Taniquetil, so she could not seek consolation in her company. Lady Estë's healing presence, on the other hand, was always open to her, and Nerwen learned much from her and her Maiar through the years, and not only of healing. She came to Lórien to learn patience and prudence and mildness, because her uncle's example showed her every day what happened to a strong spirit untempered by those things. It was a pity, she thought, that he never set foot in Lórien – or that he hadn't done so when younger. Now, she had strong suspicion Lord Irmo would not allow him in, even had he wished to enter. He permitted no one to disturb the peace of his gardens, and Fëanáro was unwilling – or unable – to temper his fire.

She crossed the border of the realm now, and could feel her mind settling to rest as she walked through the fields of flowers in bloom and admired their beauty. She was looking for the Lady of the place, but before she found her, someone else crossed her path, someone she didn't meet as often, but whose company she valued all the more. She laughed in joy upon seeing him. "Olórin, my lord!" She called.

"Nerwen, my lady," he returned with a smile. "I am glad to find you here."

"And I am glad to see you!"

Olórin winked at her. "Yes, you have told me often enough how much you value that privilege."

Nerwen laughed again. "I wish I could one day understand your insistence that you will not show yourself to the majority of my people. Sometimes I feel that when I comprehend why you do the things you do, I will be truly wise."

"That is high praise, my dear princess, and I will endeavour not to disappoint it," he said with a slight bow, his eyes sparkling.

"You know you can never disappoint me," she answered with a smile. "How fares the Elder King and the Queen of All?"

"They are well, revelling in the joy of these peaceful times." He took note of Nerwen's expression, and smiled. "The Elder King spoke to me of you."

That gave Nerwen a pause. She turned to Olórin, wide-eyed. "He did?"

"He sees your unquiet, you know."

She looked to the ground, ashamed. She always felt guilty because she thought she was disturbing the peace of Aman with her restless heart, but it was not pleasant to have it confirmed.

"Artanis," Olórin said with emphasis, and she turned her eyes to him again – he only called her by the name her father gave her when there was something of great importance he was telling her. "Remember what I told you," he said now, "do not be ashamed of who you are. Your feelings do not make you bad, it is your actions you have to guard against pride."

"But does not darkness begin in the heart?" She asked, thinking of Fëanáro again.

"Yes, but there is nothing dark about yours."

"I disturbed the Elder King's peace."

Here Olórin smiled. "There are many who disturb him more. I think you are more of a puzzle."

Here, Nerwen laughed incredulously. "I am no puzzle to you, so how am I to believe that the King of Arda cannot make me out?"

"Oh no, not in that way. He understands your heart just as well as I do, what is a puzzle to him is what to do about you." Olórin paused. "He knows about your desire to leave."

Nerwen flinched. She had never put it quite in those words herself, and Olórin had avoided it until now too. It seemed too bold, too definite. Yet it was also true.

She was scared.

"And?" She asked in a small voice.

"He does not like the idea," Olórin admitted, and Nerwen hung her head again. "Yet that is what puzzles him – he cannot find anything wrong with it. There are...others...in this realm which worry him because he sees evil growing in their hearts, but that is not your case. He cannot actually see any reason to forbid you to leave, yet he does not want to give you a blessing on your journey. I believe, though he hadn't said so outright, that that is mainly for the others. Once you left, there would be no stopping them, and their motives would be less pure."

Nerwen suddenly felt bitter towards her uncle, but fought the emotion, because here, and in front of Olórin, she was ashamed of it, even more than she would have been otherwise.

He gave her one more clear-sighted look and said: "As long as you fight it and do not allow it to grow, there is nothing to be ashamed of."

"But if I am not ashamed," Nerwen replied, "I will allow it to grow."

Olórin smiled again, and noted: "I think, my dear, that you are well on the way to real wisdom, whether you understand my motives or not."

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Much later, on her way back, Nerwen did go through the house her grandmother's parents and spent some time with them, now better predisposed to be in company of someone so well-natured. They shared stories of their recent encounters with the Queen of Arda, knowing Nerwen was always interested in those, and she reciprocated with something of what she saw and heard in Lórien, though none of the personal things Olórin told her, knowing those were only for her ears.

Somewhat to her surprise, in the middle of her visit, the High King entered the house of his sister, and Nerwen hurried into a bow. He smiled at her and waved the courtesy aside, coming to take her hands instead. "My dear child," he said. "There has been much talk of you recently in Taniquetil."

She cringed, as her great-grandmother's voice rose in question, accompanied by that of her great-aunt and second cousins. _Not here, please_ , she thought silently, and Ingwë heard her.

"Come walk with me," he said, and as she followed him, she realized to her shock that they were headed to Taniquetil.

She had been there already, a few times. Her great-grandparent's house was just at the foot of it, and the High King took her sometimes to pay her respect to the Elder King. She never went there on her own, though – it just wasn't done, not even by her Vanyar relations, those who weren't directly of Ingwë's household, that is. And now that she knew that the High King of Arda had been focusing some of his attention on her, it was markedly more disquieting.

It turned out, however, that Ingwë wasn't taking her to see Manwë Súlimo after all. He stopped at the terraces of his own house to speak with her, and he had news much like Olórin, only those were delivered with less understanding – though, it had to be said, with no more judgement.

"Middle-Earth is a dark place," the High King said, "without the light of the Trees and the Valar we have here. It is not something to desire. What can you possibly miss here?"

Nerwen sighed. The simple and honest answer was freedom, but she knew Ingwë would not understand. "I feel useless here," she said, trying to explain. "Everything is made perfect by the guardianship of the Valar. What point does my life have, then?"

"And you believe it would have more point in Middle-Earth, where you would make mistakes and see the darkness repay you for every one of them?"

"There are elves in Middle-Earth too," she argued, "and if I could be of some help to them with what I learned in the Blessed Lands, then yes, my life would have more use."

"Do not believe that those who stayed behind would welcome you as their queen, Artanis," he said, because he always called her by the name her father gave her. "They have their own, independent realms."

"I know that. I was merely trying to point out how I could see giving my life a point – I could provide them with that advice, and they me, in turn, with advice about those lands that I do not know. For that, I admit, is my true dream – having a piece of land, however small, which I could call my own and where I would be free to make my own mistakes, unburdened by the perfection of everything."

"Mistakes made outside of Aman, my dear child, are often heavily paid for," he warned again.

She shrugged. "I wish I could have that space in a world in which there is no darkness, too, but I cannot."

"But is it not prideful of you to want to rule, when kingship rightly belongs to the Elder King?"

Nerwen laughed. "You are High King of the Eldar, great-uncle. Surely that does not make you prideful?"

"It is different. I am merely as a steward of Manwë, organizing my people and serving as his messenger at times." That is an uncommonly apt description, Nerwen thought with a touch of bitterness she tried to quench. "That is not the kind of governance you seek."

She hesitated. "Perhaps this is a Noldor thing. It is in out blood, the love of creating. My relations whose hearts fill with joy at creating jewels and works of art have it easier, being content in Aman. That kind of creation does not attract me much, however. What I want to create is a community, a realm with its own rules, a society, a culture...something over which I would have less control than my relations have over their statues, no doubt, but something that attracts me nevertheless. I would like to see what would happen if my ideas about how a community should work were put into practice and intervened with others' ideas, a little like improvisation in song, only it wouldn't be a song we created, it would be a culture." She paused. "I do not truly want to leave Valinor behind, but I would have liked to have a chance to be elsewhere sometimes too."

Ingwë took hold of her hands again. "I have often wondered," he said, "if of all of my niece's children, you are the most like us, or the least. I think that, to a degree, both is true. There are sides of you which I understand perfectly, and those that are completely foreign to me. That fire you have is pure Noldor, and yet you give it a kind of lightness which, I believe, comes from us. Your desire to create, again, comes from your grandfather's people, but that it manifests in such a way that you want to create a community, togetherness, that I think comes from us too." He smiled. "And the sea calls to you like you were one of your mother's people."

Nerwen shook her head in response. "I do not believe I got much from my mother. The sea does not call me, the lands behind it do."

"You have her singing voice, at the very least. But you are right that you do not seem to have received much more. You do have our love for wisdom, I believe, and for the Valar and the Maiar. I understand you and don't understand you at the same time."

Nerwen smiled rather sadly. "Most elves seem to feel the same way towards me, yes. Except for those who do not understand me at all, that is."

"Are you lonely, Artanis?"

"Sometimes a little, yes."

He pressed her hands. "It will pass once you find someone to share your life with," he assured her.

Yes, she thought, but will I? When I know most elves of Aman already?

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When she returned home, her brother was waiting for her, smiling. "Where have you been?" Aikanáro asked. "We have missed you."

She smiled in return. "Lórien and Valimar," she replied.

"I should have known – where else are you ever? Except for uncle's house, anyway, but I was there and they haven't seen you."

"Oh, were you looking for me? I am sorry."

"Oh no, it wasn't anything urgent, otherwise I would have taken the trouble of waking to Lórien."

"Perhaps you should have anyway. It would do you good to visit it sometimes," she said, smiling at him.

He rolled his eyes at her. She knew he found it boring – of all of her brothers, he was closest to her in the sense that he had the most fire, but it also made his lack of wisdom stand out more clearly. "What news from our relations?" He asked.

"Many interesting stories from Taniquetil," she replied, and saw him groan. He wasn't interested in those either, she knew.

"See," he said, "and that is why I rarely visit them."

"What news from our uncle, then, since you did visit _him_?"

He smiled. "Turukáno will be getting married."

Nerwen stared. "Elenwë accepted him?" She knew how finding your true love was supposed to work, that there seemed to be very little choice involved once both had felt the Flame of Eru, but still...

"Yes, apparently."

She shook her head. "I'm surprised I haven't heard of that in Valimar...even though, come to think of it...no, I am not."

"What do you mean?" Aikanáro asked curiously.

"They will not be happy with the marriage, and so they will not be quick to boast of it."

"I know you do not like Turukáno much..."

"Come off it, you have to know he is not much like the Vanyar. He does not have their kind nature, nor their love for the Valar, and he is not interested in lore. There has not been much opposition to our grandparents' marriage because everyone felt sorry for our grandfather, and he is Ingwë's friend, but even so, it hadn't worked out that great, had it?"

Aikanáro frowned. "And you think that is because grandfather Finwë is not interested in lore enough, or some such nonsense?"

Nerwen sighed a little over her brother regarding all of the vast learning of the Vanyar as nonsense, ad replied: "No, the reasons were different, but it still made them more wary of those unions, and surely even you can see that Turukáno is very much a Noldo in many ways – except for his particular caution in everything. He does not have what they value, however."

He shrugged. "I do not think Turukáno is that much of a Noldo, but anyway, perhaps Elenwë will be a good influence on him, then."

"Yes, let us hope so." Nerwen paused. "I suppose I should go and congratulate him, should I not?"

Aikanáro laughed at her. "It would be the polite thing to do, yes. Our brothers are there, and I will accompany you."

"Good, then I will go at once." With her brothers present, there was a chance they would occupy Turukáno and Irissë and she would get a moment with Findekáno or her uncle.

Indeed, it seemed she was in luck, because it was Findekáno himself who welcomed her at the door. He smirked at her, knowing very well her opinion on the thing, and asked: "Came to offer your congratulations?"

"Well, there seems to be nothing else I can do."

Findekáno laughed in response. "She might be good for him, you know."

"That is what my brother said, but will he be good for her? That is the question."

"Ah, that's your Vanyar loyalty speaking," he teased.

"Oh please," she argued as she entered the house. "You are as much a Vanya as I am."

"By blood perhaps, but by association?"

He was right in that – of all Indis' grandchildren, she and Ingoldo were the ones who visited their Vanyar relations most often. Irissë hardly ever stepped there, and Turukáno had not been much better, before he fell in love with Elenwë. "It is your own loss."

"It might be," Findekáno conceded. "But I do have two siblings to manage."

Nerwen laughed at him. "That is a feeble excuse. I have three, after all."

That got a responding laugh from her cousin. "Don't let Ingoldo hear you say that."

"Oh, I think he knows perfectly well how I think." She made it plain enough often enough, to her shame. "Besides," she continued, "Turukáno will now have someone else to manage him, so that should free your hands a little."

"That might be true, but it will also make Irissë solely my responsibility, and you know that will be a handful."

This statement proved remarkably foresighted, as Nerwen could tell as soon as she entered the main living quarters. Turukáno was in an inordinately good mood, but it was almost equalled by his sister's bad one. _I should have predicted this_ , Nerwen thought. Turukáno loved his sister very dearly and she was used to his single-minded attention, and she did not like it that she would now have to share it with his wife. She was pleasant enough on the outside, but Nerwen could sense her thoughts, and she was sure she was not the only one – her uncle, at the very least, seemed troubled as he watched his daughter.

Nerwen came over to him and greeted him by pressing his hands. "You should be more joyful on this occasion," she said gently.

"As you are?" He asked ironically.

She smiled. "He is not my son."

"No – if he was, you would be perhaps even more troubled. You know I share your worries, even though I make more excuses for my son. But this marriage can either grant him great happiness, or be a complete disaster."

"Well, we are in the blessed lands," Nerwen pointed out. "If there is any chance of it being happy, it will be."

She very carefully tried not to think about grandfather Finwë. Even his marriage to her grandmother was happy in some ways, after all, and he was the exception, not the rule. Those were the blessed lands, and in spite of occasional minor turbulences, its people were happy, and would continue to be so. Or so Nerwen told herself.

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AN: Artanis Nerwen – Galadriel; Ñolofinwë Arakáno – Fingolfin, Findekáno – Fingon, Findaráto Ingoldo – Finrod, Aikanáro – Aegnor, Irissë – Aredhel, Turukáno – Turgon. I hope I haven't forgotten anyone I mentioned here.


	2. Worry

AN: A note on names: I use mother names where they are available, except for Fingolfin and Finarfin, because they are both named the same as their sons, which is just irritating. (Yes, Argon doesn't exist in this fic, but it would still be confusing I think.)

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 **Chapter 2: Worry**

 _Year 1450 of the Trees, Gardens of Lórien_

Nerwen's heart was heavy with worry.

She did not trust Melkor. She did not trust him, and she felt like a fool.

The Elder King himself pardoned his brother and allowed him to walk through the lands of Aman freely, after he repented. She knew remorse was possible and that it was right to forgive in such situations.

So why, why did she not trust him?

In her more arrogant moments, she thought it was because she had no interest in trusting him, and so nothing clouding her judgement. Creating things was not her passion, so his advices were not so precious to her as they were to some others. Even her half-uncle, Fëanáro, occasionally listened to Melkor, and he hardly listened to anyone these days.

But even if her suspicions in this respect were true, it could hardly be the case of the Elder King. His trust should be enough for everyone. So why, why couldn't she accept it?

She was walking the Gardens of Lórien, trying to find peace of mind, but it was escaping her even here these days. That was why she was so joyous when she noted Lady Estë coming her way. If the Healer could not quieten her heart, then nothing could.

She bowed deep when the Valië approached, and said: "My lady."

"Nerwen, beloved child. I can feel how troubled you are. Let me ease your mind."

"Please, my lady. Worry weights on me heavily this day, and I do not rightly know why."

Estë touched her heart and her forehead, and said: "It is a premonition that weights on you, beloved, and I cannot easily help with that. I can only give you the assurance that what is to come, will come, and your heavy heart will not stop it. Find strength in the knowledge that it is Eru Illúvatar who guides our paths."

Nerwen had not realized before, but it had indeed been a premonition of something...perhaps not exactly bad, but certainly something world-changing happening soon that made her worry more pressing. Now this had been eased by Lady Estë's words, but the original source remained, and the Healer could feel it, too.

"That worry you have," she said, "is shared by some of us, too, and I do not know if I would do right in easing your mind in this regard. Sometimes, it can lend you carefulness. I will soften it a little, though."

Nerwen was caught by the beginning of the sentence: "There are some among the Great Lords and Ladies who share my misgivings? Then you do not believe I am foolish and presuming in not giving my trust?"

Lady Estë smiled. "My brother and his wife are as tight-lipped as ever, about the fates of the world, but I know Námo did not endorse Melkor's freedom, and that Ulmo and Tulkas, at the very least, do not trust him."

"And you, my lady?"

Estë shook her head. "It is not my gift to see the fates of the world or to wage wars. I can heal troubled minds, hearts, souls and bodies, but Melkor never asked for my help in this – Valar rarely do, in any case."

Nerwen nodded. She should have expected this. She knew the minds of the Valar did not work the same way as the minds of Elves. To an Elf, she would have said that surely she must have at least some sort of private opinion, but she was aware that Lady Estë simply did not.

If Estë couldn't help her – more than she already had, that is – there was only one other place to turn. "Is Lord Olórin here?"

"Not in our gardens, no." Nerwen sighed heavily. "I believe," the Valië continued, "that you might find him on Taniquetil, though."

Nerwen gave her a surprised look. "I cannot just go there..."

"You are troubled, beloved, and he can ease your mind without making you careless, as I would have if I had interfered more strongly. Go to him. Manwë will not deny you entrance."

Nerwen did not think he would, it just seemed impolite. Estë smiled at her. "Those are elvish concerns that you bother with. The King will recognize your need and will not mind in the slightest. In fact, he is already expecting you."

Of course he was. For all those years she had lived close to the Valar, she still sometimes forgot herself – they often showed themselves in forms that were similar to the elven ones, and so one was tempted, sometimes, to regard them as only a more powerful version of oneself, while they were so much more.

"Thank you, my lady," Nerwen said simply, and left for Taniquetil.

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Lord Olórin found her before she even reached the gates of Ingwë's house. "Your heart is troubled," he said in place of a greeting.

"It is. And Lady Estë sent me to you," Nerwen added.

"Are you sure you have not sent yourself?" Olórin asked with a smile.

Nerwen gave him a small one in return. "A combination of both, then." She paused. "You know what is on my mind, do you not?"

"Yes, you have hinted at it often enough in the past years – indeed, almost since he had been released."

"Can you free my mind from doubts, then?" She asked hopefully.

He frowned a little. "You spoke with Lady Estë. You should know I cannot."

Nerwen heaved a deep sight. "Am I right, then?"

"I do not know. I fear you might be," Lord Olórin admitted.

"Then why has the Elder King...?"

"He fears you might be right too. But understand, he does not have a single act of Melkor that would support that fear, and so he will not act against him."

Nerwen frowned, and Olórin smiled at her. "He knew he could not be certain when he decided to release his brother. But he cannot hold anyone a prisoner only because he is not certain. Melkor showed every sign of honest remorse, and has been on his best behaviour ever since. There are many in Aman who do not fully trust him, but no one will move against him before the Elder King does, and he will not do so unless Melkor actually does something to deserve it."

Nerwen contemplated this. "You say there are many in Aman who do not trust him...so why do I feel like such a fool with my suspicions?"

"Because, in spite of your open-mindedness, you still move mostly among the Noldor. He is the greatest friend to them, and so they trust him the most." Nerwen remembered her theory about self-interest clouding the judgement of her relations, and felt pride in her clear sight. "If you spoke to your Vanyar relations, you would find they share your views."

"Truly?" She never dared to bring it up with them. She never dared to bring it up with anyone, except her closest friends, in hints – and of those, only Olórin listened in understanding, it seemed. Her brother, cousin and uncle all told her she had a suspicious mind, or refused to understand her at all. She never mentioned it in front of other Noldor because they seemed too devoted to Melkor, and she never mentioned it in front of the Vanyar because they seemed too untouched by the cares of Tirion for her to spoil it.

"Yes, truly. You can ask your great-uncle directly. In fact, I recommend it. Talking to someone else will do you good."

Nerwen raised her eyebrows at him. "You realized you have not precisely laid my worries to rest, do you not, my lord?"

He chuckled. "At least you are not alone. And remember what Lady Estë said – our steps are guided by Illúvatar, and what is to pass shall pass."

And he left her like that, wondering.

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She met her father in Ingwë's palace, to her surprise. "You left Mother alone with the wedding planning?" She asked.

"I was actually sent here to consult about appropriate song contest topics," Arafinwë explained.

"Does Angaráto even want a song contest?" Nerwen asked tiredly.

"Beloved, I do not think Angaráto cares about anything except being married to Eldalótë already. He leaves everything up to her," her father described the situation fittingly.

"That has less to do with my brother's deep love and more to do with his deep-ingrained unwillingness to actually push for what he wants, whatever it is." Arafinwë gave her a chiding look, but she withstood it. "You know it is true, Father. Even in their courtship, from what I know, she had to be the one who took the active role."

"There is nothing wrong with being conciliatory, beloved," he replied and sighed. "Why are _you_ here?" He asked then, changing the topic.

"I came to see the High King...about some worries I have had," she explained.

"Are you sure you should be bothering him with it?"

It was Nerwen's turn to sigh. She knew her father did not mean to sound condescending, but intentions were not everything, after all. Fortunately, at this point, they were interrupted by the High King himself, who welcomed them warmly and immediately promised to listen to what she had to say.

"It is about Melkor," she explained once they were in his rooms.

"I do not think you should-" Finarfin started, only to be shocked into silence by the High King's response.

"So he worries you as well?" He asked.

"Yes," she admitted. "I would not bother you with this, but Lord Olórin advised me to speak to you. It has been troubling me for years now."

"You are not alone in that, I assure you, though we are not graced with his presence as often as you are in Tirion." her great-uncle paused. "What exactly is it that bothers you?"

And so Nerwen talked, and the High Kind listened, very attentively, it should be said. Unfortunately, before they got too far, they were interrupted by a messenger arriving with news. "Fëanáro made some new wonder," he said, "and all are coming to Tirion to see it – including the Valar!"

As Nerwen rose with the king and her father to hurry to the Noldorin city, her premonition rose again, stronger, though thanks to Lady Estë with less dread attached to it. There was a crowd already gathered on the main square before the palace when they arrived – it seemed everyone from Tirion and quite a lot of those from Valimar and Alqualondë were there, and Nerwen's mother even tore herself and her son from the planning, clearly. The sea of people parted before them, however, and Nerwen, spotting her eldest brother standing with Turukáno, rushed to his side. "What is it that makes this new creation so special that it receives so much attention?" She asked.

"No one knows," Ingoldo replied. "I am as curious as you are. It must be truly something amazing for the Valar themselves to come – all of them, even, except for Lord Ulmo!"

"I bet there are some who do know," Turukáno muttered, casting a not very friendly glance to where the sons of Fëanáro were standing. Irissë was there as well, talking to Tyelkormo and Atarinkë, no doubt the source of Turukáno's irritation.

Elenwë, who was standing next to her husband and leaning on him, in late stages of pregnancy, lightly touched his forearm. "They are her friends, my love," she said. "Do not begrudge her that."

Turukáno turned his gaze to her, and it softened immediately. Aikanáro had been right, as astonishing as it was: Elenwë truly was good for their cousin.

Irissë gave Nerwen an idea, however, as much as she disliked being inspired by her only female cousin in anything, and she walked through the crowd until she was on the other side of the group around Fëanáro. "Maitimo," she muttered, and he turned to her, a slight upturn of the corners of his mouth that stood for a welcoming smile with him.

"Nerwen," he said. "I did not see you arrive. I am glad you are in time."

"Do not say you would have started without me," she smirked.

"Of course not. We would have naturally asked all of the Valar to wait until Princess Artanis could deign us with her presence," he deadpaned.

"I rather thought so, yes," she replied in an equally dry tone and waved at Findekáno to come over.

He did, disengaging from a talk with his father. "Are you trying to get some information out of him?" He asked.

"Yes, very subtle, thank you, Findekáno. That had been my intention, but I would have chosen a less obvious way to go about it. But now, it appears, only one road is open to me." She turned to Maitimo, raising her eyebrow, and asked: "What is this about?"

Maitimo only raised his own eyebrow in return. "Wait and see. My father has really outdone himself this time."

Fëanáro heard him – no wonder, when they were standing just next to him – and turned. He was not smiling, but the fire in him seemed to be brighter than usual, and less contained somehow, even less controlled – so much so that Nerwen had to make a conscious effort not to step back.

"Artanis," he said. "You denied me a strand of your hair, and yet I have captured their radiance nevertheless – and more."

This did nothing to ease Nerwen's worry either, but she replied: "You know I never begrudged you that attempt, Uncle. But I do not give anything of myself."

He smiled at her, quite unexpectedly. It was not a kind smile, exactly, but there was pride in it – and not a selfish pride, for once. "And you do well not to," he replied. "I did not see it before, but I do now. Never give anything of yourself to anyone. Only your own creations, your own blood and tears, or flesh and blood, are worthy of that." His eyes strayed to the covered case in front of him, and Nerwen's curiosity grew.

All of the Valar were gathered now, on the opposite side of the square than where Fëanáro and his family were standing, and finally, he approached the case...and opened it.

When she laid her eyes on the jewels, her breath stopped for a short moment. She could not believe such beauty could be fashioned by elvish hands. They were gold like Laurelin and yet silver like Telperion at the same time, and the light they emitted seemed almost as strong as that of the Trees at mingling. She was amazed and charmed, caught in the beauty of it, wishing to be able to gaze on them forever, for she knew she would never get tired of them.

Nevertheless, she made herself tear her eyes away and look around. She saw amazement in every face around her, and her worry stirred again.

"These," Fëanáro said, "are the Silmarils, and they will be the heirlooms of my house. The light of the Trees is in them, and they shine like Varda's stars."

Nerwen's breath caught again at such blasphemy, but the Queen of Arda, she saw, did not seem angered. On the contrary, she stepped forward and looked at the jewels carefully. "Brighter than how my stars seem from the distant lands of Middle-Earth they are," she said, "and no mortal hand or evil shall touch them without burning, and they will not be destroyed by anything to be found in Arda."

Fëanáro was blazing even more brightly now, looking more powerful than ever before, and his light was visible even in the presence of the Valar. Then, however, Lord Námo approached and made his own pronouncement: "The fates of the world will be intertwined with these jewels you made."

It seemed to make Fëanáro even prouder, but Nerwen knew this was what her premonition concerned, and she did not think Lord Námo's prophecy was a good thing. Changing the fate of the world sounded like a great matter, but it was was not likely to be pleasant, she imagined. After all, they all lived mostly happily in the blessed lands for now. If the fates were to change, could it really be for the better?

Maitimo was standing by his father now, in silent pride as Fëanáro received fully deserved admiration from the rest of the Valar, so she turned to Findekáno. "This is...quite incredible," she said.

"I concur. I knew our half-uncle was talented, but this..."

"It is a special blessing," she agreed. "And yet I worry."

"You always worry," he pointed out.

"You sound like Aikanáro!"

He chuckled. "A harsh criticism indeed! Do not forget that I consider him my friend."

"Yes, and you know I am happy for that, but he is supposed to be taking you as his model, not the other way around."

"Influence is always mutual, you should know that, oh wise cousin of mine," he replied, smirking. "And now if you will excuse me, I have to get back to father, I really escaped from him quite rudely before – but where is he?"

Nerwen looked around as well, to seek her uncle and the rest of her family, but she could only find Angaráto. She headed to him and asked: "Where is everyone?"

"Elenwë caught sight of the jewels and the baby moved within her," her brother answered. "They are all with her now."

Nerwen turned without a word and rushed to Turukáno's house, with Findekáno by her side. She might have had many objections against him, but he was still her cousin and she should be present at the birth of his first child. Besides, Elenwë truly was a good influence on him. In those years with her, he gained in wisdom and lost some of his hard-headedness, to Nerwen's great pleasure.

When they arrived to her cousin's house, however, they found out they were too late – Ñolofinwë met them at the door, and announced: "Elenwë gave birth to a girl, one they named Itarillë. She is a beautiful child, with hair like the gold of Laurelin and skin like the silver of Telperion. Go inside and meet her."

And Nerwen did, happy that this turned out to be a truly joyous day after all.

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AN: Nelyafinwe Maitimo – Maedhros, Turkafinwe Tyelkormo – Celegorm, Curufinwe Atarinkë – Curufin, Angaráto - Angrod


	3. Fear

AN: I originally intended to make the speech that was supposed to be in Quenya "Shakesperean" (with all those thous and thees), but I just can't tell if it the sentence works at all when I do that, and anyway it is Galadriel's first language, the language in which she thinks, so – given it's her POV – it should sound natural to readers. But it means I had to edit the Tolkien quotes - "translate" them into modern English – otherwise they disturbed the flow of the text too much...

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 **Chapter 3: Fear**

 _Year 1490 of the Trees, Gardens of Lórien_

Itarillë, Nerwen thought, was Eru's gift to alleviate her loneliness, and make her feel less sorry that Irissë and she were so different.

She was also one of the few lights in the increasingly darkening world.

They were walking together among the mellyrn that grew in the Gardens of Lórien, admiring their beauty. Itarillë was the only one of her family willing to accompany her there, and Nerwen often made use of her company, even though she knew that Itarillë's reasons were different from her own. She, too, learned much from Estë's Maiar about healing body and soul, but she rarely talked with the Valië herself. Her heart was closest to that of Lady Vána and she often met with her in the gardens instead. Itarillë sought some of the wisdom of Lórien, but some of it eluded her, and Nerwen knew that when she wanted to meet Olórin, she had to come alone. She argued with him about this frequently, but he could not be convinced.

"Let us go see the rose fields again," Itarillë suggested now.

Nerwen laughed at her. "You just want to avoid your grandfather as long as possible."

Itarillë made a face. "Can you blame me?"

No, she could not. The changes to her uncle in the last decades were frankly alarming. Nerwen had known for a long time that age did not ensure wisdom, but she had assumed, before, that once achieved, wisdom could not simply evaporate. Her uncle's example, however, seemed to be proving the opposite. Lately, Ñolofinwë was always angry, and in anger, wisdom disappeared.

Nerwen could not quite blame him. His anger was towards Fëanáro, and towards Finwë, too, for not doing anything, and he was justified. Fëanáro had always lacked moderation, but in the last years, he lost it entirely, speaking plainly of rebelling against the Valar and accusing them of dark intentions towards the Eldar, stating that they were kept like captives in Aman - and pretending to speak for all the Noldor as he did so. There were also rumour about weapons and armour being forged, something unheard of in Aman before. Nerwen sincerely hoped these were false.

Ñolofinwë loved Itarillë dearly and that made him spend more time in Turukáno's house, and thus with his younger son, than he had before. Increasingly, it was his younger son he shared his worries and anger with, as well – partly because Turukáno was more willing to enter into them, while Findekáno tended to wave them aside, stating that words were wind. That led to more fear, anger and close-mindedness than had Ñolofinwë still kept his eldest son's council.

It led to conflicts with his wife as well. Anairë was normally a mild, pleasant lady, but she was hard-headed and strong-minded where it truly mattered to her, and this did matter. It used to be that Turukáno was closer to her and Findekáno closer to his father, but now the situation was reversed, with Anairë resenting her younger son's defensive approach and supporting her older son's conciliatory one, though for different reasons – contrary to Findekáno, she did not think nothing serious was happening. She only thought, as Nerwen and her father did, that Nolofinwe was making it worse.

Nerwen could not pretend she did not know who was behind it all, either.

Fëanáro hardly spoke to Melkor now, but there were others who did: his sons, Atarinkë and Carnistir chief among them, and they brought the ideas Melkor put into their minds to their father. Equally, Turukáno lent his ear to the Vala, and told tales of it to his father, as well as to Ingoldo, which worried Nerwen. She had warned her brother many times, but it seemed in vain.

If there was one thing she was proud of, it was that she managed to keep Itarillë away from Melkor. It was not solely her merit, of course. Elenwë distrusted him, as all Vanyar did, and it only needed Nerwen's fire to convince her that it was worth insisting to Turukáno that it was not a good acquaintance for their young daughter. Nerwen was well aware that had Itarillë been a son, it would have been harder work, but as it was, she managed - with a little support from Findekáno, who trusted her enough to do that even if he believed her worries to be exaggerated.

As it was, Itarillë was kept away from the lies and hate spread by Melkor, and Nerwen only helplessly watched how it made Ñolofinwë more and more angry, and brought Fëanáro and most of his sons – with the exception of Maitimo, who was closer to Ñolofinwë than to his father in nature, and Macalaurë, who seemed to have some traces of her own father's character – beyond reason.

Unwanted, there was also a selfish reason for which Nerwen despised Fëanáro's actions. She still harboured hope that one day, the Valar would give her blessing to leave for Middle-Earth, but with Fëanáro's deepening madness, it seemed less and less likely. She detested that she had to pay the price for his mistakes, and missed the old greatness of her uncle, to whom she had not spoken for years – almost, in fact, since he made the Silmarils. That seemed to have been a breaking point for him, the point after which it all started to slowly tip towards insanity.

What hurt her even more than the loss of Fëanáro's companionship – which, after all, had been only occasional even before – was the loss of Maitimo's. Her friend of old was fiercely loyal to his father, and when she could not quite keep herself from criticising how her half-uncle acted, Maitimo began to curb the time he was willing to spend with her. They were still on friendly terms, essentially, but where once she would have called him one of her closest friends...his place had been taken by Itarillë, as different as they were.

This thought brought Nerwen back to the present, and she turned to her friend, awakening from her musings. "I do not blame you, but you know he does not like it when you are away for too long. He fears for you."

It was true, and yet it was a thing that would have been absurd to say in Aman only twenty years ago, for what was there to fear?

"Oh very well," was Itarillë's reply, and they headed back to Tirion. "I would like to be present at the council at the end of the week, anyway."

"Would you?" Nerwen asked archly.

"Well, like is perhaps not the right word. It will be unpleasant, I know it. But I can also feel it will be important, and I want to see what will happen there with my own eyes, so that I cannot be influenced by lies later."

Nerwen was very proud of Itarillë in that moment, and a little of herself, too, feeling that she had taught her cousin well, ever since she took her under her wing. "I have that premonition too," she said aloud, "so we better hurry. The hot heads that hold sway among our people now might well have need of our wisdom before the council is over."

Itarillë laughed at that assessment. She was still young, relatively speaking, and did not realize how far into madness have some of their relations descended and that she indeed could be called wise among them.

She laughed and ran and danced, and Nerwen followed her, glad to have a moment of joy, because her foreknowledge told her there would not be much of it left after the council, though she knew not what would happen. And so it happened that they did not hurry overmuch on their way and stopped by the Trees as they went, for the light of Laurelin was at its fullest at that time and both of them loved it dearly, and loved, too, the bright Lady Arien who could be found gathering its dews. There, they could forget about the worries of Tirion and simply bask in the brightness.

"How do you do it that you can look at the Lady?" Itarillë asked, lying in the grass with her eyes closed.

"I cannot, not for too long."

"Still. I am incapable of as much as glancing directly at her."

"Just try, and do not let yourself flinch. Come on."

Reluctantly, Itarillë opened her eyes and sought Lady Arien. She took a deep breath, and her sight alighted on the brightness. She last several seconds before she hurriedly looked away again.

"See?" Nerwen said cheerfully. "Now I will be able to take you to Taniquetil with High King Ingwë soon enough, for I will not have to fear you will flinch from the face of the Queen of All."

"I have seen Queen Varda before, you know," Itarillë muttered.

"Yes, when she descends from the mountain. But she always pulls a curtain over her brightness when she does that."

Itarillë frowned. "I thought she always...I mean, if it is the light of the One in her face..."

Nerwen crossed her hands behind her head. "Well, yes, of course she always has to conceal it somewhat when anyone beside the Ainur goes to see her. But she does it so much more when she descends from the mountain. On Taniquetil, she is...well, brighter than Lady Arien. As bright as her stars, at least."

The younger lady rolled to her side, facing her. "But I thought the stars...from what the eldest Elves say, they always seemed like small lights in the distance, you know? Surely the Queen is brighter than that."

Nerwen sat up and looked at her cousin. "You have never heard our Vanyar relations talk about this? The Queen explained herself, from what I gather. The starts only looked the way they looked from Middle-Earth because they were very far away. From up close...well, as I have said. As bright as Lady Arien, or even brighter."

Now Itarillë looked deeply interested. "I have got to go to Taniquetil," she stated.

Nerwen laughed. "First, try looking at Lady Arien again!"

The lady heard her, and came closer, making even Nerwen turn her eyes away. She laughed. "Careful, or I might burn you."

"I do not fear you, my lady," Nerwen replied, though her eyes were still turned away.

"No?" Another laugh. "Perhaps you should."

"I am sorry for...well, staring at you," Itarillë said quietly.

"Do not be! I am hoping that with some more centuries of training, you two will be able to hold a conversation with me while actually looking at me!"

"But, I mean...you could dim your light, could you not?"

Lady Arien's bright eyes narrowed, not that any of the two Elves saw it. "Yes, I could," she said, "but why would I do it?"

They left her company only regretfully, but time was running short. When they finally arrived in Tirion, they had to go directly to the palace if they wanted to be present at the council. It was already in progress, and they mixed in the ranks of the Noldor nobility. Most who mattered were gathered there – though there were a few notable absences as well. Nerwen's father refused to come, she knew, stating that whatever was said would only increase enmity as long as it was not behind closed door between just Finwë, Fëanáro and Ñolofinwë. Findekáno was not there either, claiming that the council would only give legitimacy to the whispers all around them. That meant that of her brothers, only Ingoldo was present, standing firmly by Turukáno's side, as always. Aikanáro and Angaráto were loyal to their parents first, and to Findekáno second. Besides, Angaráto was on a prolonged visit in Alqualondë at the moment, with his wife and son. Nerwen rather thought Eldalótë would have liked being at the council, but she could hardly travel back for it when her husband did not. It would send entirely the wrong kind of message.

Nerwen noticed Turukáno had all three of his sworn companions with their eldest sons standing behind him, and grimaced a little, exchanging a fleeting look with Lord Laurefindil. That would not help to calm the situation. She was relieved to see that, at least, her uncle had refrained from such an obvious show of strength.

Shortly after Itarillë and Nerwen arrived in the council room, they were witnesses to Ñolofinwë stepping in front of the king and speaking against Fëanáro. "King and father," he said, "will you not restrain the pride of our brother, Curufinwë, who is called the Spirit of Fire, all too truly? By what right does he speak for all our people, as if he were King? You it was who long ago spoke before the Elves, bidding them accept the summons of the Valar to Aman. You it was that led the Noldor upon the long road through the perils of Middle-Earth to the light of Eldamar. If you do not now repent of it, you have at least two sons to honour your words."

Nerwen's dread increased, especially at the last words, and it was justified when Fëanáro in full armour emerged from the shadows. So the rumours about weapons were true, she thought, horrified, even as her half-uncle said in anger: "So it is, even as I guessed. My half-brother would be before me with my father, in this as in all other matters!" He drew the weapon he had by his side – a sword, she had heard he called it – and turned it towards Ñolofinwë. "Begone, and take your due place!"

Nerwen was it shock. It was only in his darkest mutterings that her uncle spoke about his suspicion that the weapons Fëanáro was making were intended against him, and never had she taken it seriously. Fëanáro was further into his insanity that she could have imagine.

Ñolofinwë, clearly employing all of his power to keep his anger under control, simply bowed to

Finwë and turned to leave. Nerwen saw Ingoldo slip out as well and had to catch Itarillë to stop her from following immediately after, for she saw that Fëanáro turned to go as well, and so they went only after him, and saw how he stayed their uncle and grandfather at the door – and, to their horror, he put the tip of his sword against his breast. Once again, Nerwen had to hold Itarillë fast, as they listened to Fëanáro's words. "See, half-brother!" He said. "This is sharper than your tongue. Try but once more to usurp my place and the love of my father, and maybe it will rid the Noldor of one who seeks to be the master of thralls."

Nerwen froze these words, and she watched her uncle silently leave before she woke up and hurried after him, Itarillë in tow.

"Uncle!" Nerwen called.

He turned to her, and she could see the anger burning in his eyes, which softened only when they fell on Itarillë. "I am sorry you had to witness that," he said, and turned to walk on.

Both ladies joined him, and Itarillë said: "I am not. Rumours will soon spread about the council, and as an eyewitness, I will not have to wonder whom to trust."

"I would have hoped you would have trusted your father and me," he replied, a little of his anger seeping through.

"Of course," she said quickly, "but what if you each told the story a little differently? It happens, you know."

"It any case, it does not concern you, Itarillë. The conflict is between me and my half-brother. Now, I have to go in search of my full one, if you will allow me."

"Can I go with you, Uncle?" Nerwen asked immediately, sensing a lot could depend on the result of this talk.

"I can hardly prevent you from seeing your own father. You will see what he says about the matter. But see Itarillë home safely first, I do not want her walking alone now."

Itarillë made a face, but Nerwen shot her a look and said only: "Yes, Uncle," dragging the younger lady with her.

"I am sorry," she said when they were out of hearing distance, "but they would never talk openly in front of you. I swear I will tell you as much as I can, afterwards."

Itarillë nodded in understanding. Ñolofinwë's house was fortunately directly next to the palace, and Turukáno was there at the moment, pacing, Elenwë and Anairë both attempting to calm him down, each in her own way. Ingoldo should be here, Nerwen thought fleetingly, he was good in making his friend see reason amid worries. However, he had probably gone to see father and tell him the news, and so Nerwen left Itarillë with them, and found Findekáno, dragging him outside by his hand.

"Come with me," she said, "I have to tell you something on the way." And she retold him the tale of the conflict, adding what she did not want to admit in front of Itarillë, because she did not wish to worry her: "I am afraid, Findekáno."

"Of Fëanáro?"

"Yes...and no. I am afraid that this is only the first sign of a greater darkness that is coming, and that Fëanáro will be the one to bring it upon us," she explained.

"You used to predict it would be Melkor," he pointed out, but she could tell by his tone that he took her warning much more seriously now than he had before.

"The origin of all this evil is with Melkor," she insisted as they rounded the corner to the long street that led to Arafinwë's house, "but he cannot actually bring this kind of darkness. Even if he came and killed here among us, it would not be a greater evil than brother drawing a sword against brother. Melkor can bring death, but Fëanáro can bring betrayal."

"I do not want to head your words," Findekáno admitted, "yet it seems you were right all along, with your grim prophecies."

Nerwen smiled a grim smile. "That is a habit of mine," she said. "Go back to your brother now and make sure he does not do anything harsh, and I will talk to our fathers."

Findekáno nodded to her, and she continued alone to her home, trying to prepare her arguments for the debate she knew would take place. She was distracted by her own anger, however: towards Fëanáro, certainly, but perhaps even more so towards her grandfather, who sat by and let his own son be threatened. All had always known that Fëanáro was his favourite, but he had not, until now, shown his preference so blatantly. She knew her uncle was deeply hurt by it, and she burned with the injustice of it all. It was easier for her father, in a way – while Finwë probably had even less love for him than for Ñolofinwë, Arafinwë was simply his mother's son, and he could bear it more easily.

Drawing a weapon in Aman! And against one's brother, as well, to threaten him with death...she knew her half-uncle did not truly mean the threat, but still, it had been uttered, when even to think of such would have been impossible some years ago. The idea if spilling blood of another Elf...how absurd! He was certain her uncles would never have even conceived of the possibility if it was not for Melkor. It must have been him who whispered to Fëanáro's sons that there was a way to be rid of their scheming uncle once and for all, and it must have been him who whispered to Turukáno that there was deathly danger to be feared from his family…

And now, if this feud continued, he would get what he wanted. Surely that was not a desirable result? Yet what else could be done, after such a terrible breach of all that was proper? She was not against forgiveness, but of such a deed? But when there was no other way out?

Thoughts like this chased each other in Nerwen's head, but by the time she arrived home, she was decided. _Above all, Melkor must not be allowed to win._

She found the two brothers in deep discussion already. Her mother was sitting to the side, watching them with her calm, impenetrable eyes, and Ingoldo was next to her, his face displaying worry more clearly. "Artanis," her father welcomed her softly, pressing her hands. "You were there as well?"

"Indeed, father."

"And I suppose that you agree with your uncle, that our eldest brother was beyond reason?"

Without a doubt. "He was, father, but then he had been for some time. It only manifested clearly now."

"He drew a sword on me," Ñolofinwë emphasized. "That means start of a feud."

Nerwen sighed. "It made my blood boil too, uncle," she admitted, "but..."

"But forgiveness is often the best medicine," her father finished for her.

Ñolofinwë turned to her: "I could have expected what my brother's opinion will be, but I have to say I am surprised you agree with him. You used to be closer to my way of thinking."

Nerwen sighed once more. Yes, and you used to be closer to mine, she thought. Aloud, she said: "I sometimes miss the fire I have in my father, yes, but he never lacks wisdom." She hesitated, but decided time for mincing words was past and continued: "You used to have both, Uncle, but now I worry your anger over Fëanáro's actions is making you lose the second. He started the discord in Aman, yes – if we discount the ones who first spread the lies – but let us not be the ones who help it spread. If you continue the feud, it will grow. If you offer forgiveness, there is a chance it will heal."

"Yes, Ñolofinwë," her father added. "If you cannot take this advice from me, take it from my daughter, who as you know never lacked fire. Do not make it worse."

Ñolofinwë took a deep breath. "I will think on it," he said, and he left.

Nerwen put her hopes in Anairë, Itarillë and Findekáno, and hoped he would seek council with them, too, and not only with Turukáno.

Her father took her hands in his again and kissed them. "Do you see what lies ahead of us?" He asked her, used to trusting her foresight.

"I fear," Nerwen replied, "it will be darkness."

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AN: My spellcheck keeps trying to change Ñolofinwë to "fun-loving". Yeah, that's _exactly_ how I'd describe him in this chapter...

Names: Laurefindil – Glorfindel, Kanafinwë Macalaurë – Maglor, Arafinwë – Finarfin, Itarillë – Idril, Morifinwë Carnistir – Caranthir


	4. Despair

AN: I had a question about updates and such, so: this should continue updating every week, for the foreseeable future. The rough draft of this story is finished, so hopefully it's not in danger of being abandoned halfway, though I do edit the chapters quite heavily before posting them.

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 **Chapter 4: Despair**

 _Year 1495 of the Trees, Tirion_

Nerwen put on her best jewels, smiling in happiness.

It seemed her premonitions would not come to pass after all, or not in the near future, at least. Melkor had been recognized as the Enemy once again and fled to some distant lands, and now a great feast was to take place where Fëanáro and Ñolofinwë were meant to heal the breach between them. She had not seen Fëanáro since his banishment, so she did not know if he was better disposed towards Ñolofinwë than he had been before, but she hoped he could, with no new lies to poison his heart. Ñolofinwë had taken her and her father's advice and offered peace even before Fëanáro left, and that boded well for the future, she felt.

Some worry remained in her heart, mostly about Finwë's estrangement from his people. She never had too much affection for this grandfather of hers, always seeing that he loved the children of Indis less than he loved his first son, and finding in his decisions the first source of evil in Aman. He still wore the crown, yet he had followed his beloved Fëanáro into banishment, leaving his own wife, two sons, and the whole of his people behind. Indis had returned to Valimar and Ñolofinwë was the king in all but a name now. Some of her worry was due to the fact that once Finwë returned, it would be difficult for her uncle to give up the power again – something she could understand quite well - and some of it was because the Noldor might not quite welcome back a ruler who had abandoned them

But for this day, she decided to leave her worries and heavy heart behind, and simply enjoy the feast.

Everyone from Tirion and Valimar was there, though from Fëanáro's household only he himself came, and it was glorious indeed. All were clothed in their best, and colourful dresses and robes swirled in dance as beautiful jewels glittered in the brilliant light. The Valar uncovered a little more of their glory than they usually did and it was a great joy only to behold them.

And then Fëanáro and Ñolofinwë met in front of Manwë's throne, and Nerwen held her breath, but Ñolofinwë offered his hand and Fëanáro took it, and then she heard her uncle utter those words: "Half brother in blood, full brother in heart I will be. You shall lead and I will follow. May no new grief divide us," and she quivered, because her premonitions returned tenfold, and she had a moment to regret that from a peace between brothers, something evil may come – was it perhaps a sign that Fëanáro hardly spoke in response, and offered no apology? - and that these dark forethoughts should mar for her the experience of the feast, when the light of the Trees suddenly disappeared, and they were all immersed in darkness.

Never before and never after had she felt such despair as now, as she stood on Taniquetil, watching everything she knew to be fair and noble disappear, uncomprehending.

She had never known a world where the light of the Trees did not shine, but she had heard the stories - recently, they were even told with a degree of nostalgia, though only by those who did not remember it themselves – of the serene beauty of a starlit sky.

There was nothing serene or beautiful about what was around them now, and the stars could not be seen. Instead, there was crushing despair, confusion, the chaos of voices raising in panicked questioning, and then Lady Nienna, sorrowful, but clear above it all: "The Trees have been destroyed."

And Nerwen wailed with the rest of Noldor and Vanyar as Lady Yavanna shrieked, her grief and despair more powerful than any others could feel, for the creations of her heart perished.

It was the darkest hour for all, and Nerwen felt lost without her foresight, not knowing what would come. She stood by Itarillë and Findekáno, staring into the darkness, as tears streamed down her eyes.

She heard, as if in a daze, The Elder King decree that The Enemy was at fault, with some other, darker help he knew not, and deep fear added another layer to her despair, for what terrible thing could it be that The King of Arda was unaware of it? Lord Oromë and Lord Tulkas set out to pursue after this was announced, but it did not lessen her sorrow, for apprehending the culprit would not bring the Trees back to life. And when they returned empty-handed, her fear of that unknown, dark horror in which the strongest of the Valar could be lost rose to almost blind panic, and only looking upon Queen Varda's light that shone undiminished made her keep her grasp on the knowledge that not all was lost.

The hope grew stronger as the winds of The Elder King chased the shadows away, and now the stars could be seen, distant, but beautiful. Lady Yavanna went to the remnants of the trees, so see if they could be salvaged, and though with grief she spoke of their death, there seemed to be some hope left in the light of the Silmarils.

And then The Queen of the Earth requested them from Fëanáro, to bring life to the Trees again, and he refused.

And even as he did so, Nerwen's inner sight cleared from the darkness that had clouded it and she could sense very great evil ahead of them all, greater even than the destruction of the Trees, and she cried out again, because even not knowing what it would be, the idea was terrible to contemplate.

Then the messengers came from Formenos to announce that King Finwë had been slain by the Enemy and the Silmarils were stolen, and as Nerwen heard the first choked sob of her grandmother, the nature of the tragedy started to have clearer contours in her mind. She did not truly hear the words of Fëanáro's desperate speech, for her premonitions were occupying her mind, but she knew he stood before The Elder King, and as he spoke, her visions were becoming even clearer, and she saw, to her horror, that there was blood in them. Were more messages about death to reach them? Did the Enemy, perhaps, flee through Alqualondë, slaying their Teleri kin on the way?

Nerwen's mind returned from her visions to see that Fëanáro was gone, and the Noldor were leaving the Ring of Doom now as well, slowly and in sorrow, returning to their city. She joined them, her mind not quite on the road, tears still blurring her way, supporting Itarillë as her father held council with her uncle, and her brothers talked between themselves, as well as her cousins. She was too lost in the fear and darkness to talk, let alone give advice.

She remembered Lord Námo's pronouncement that the fate of the world was entwined with the Silmarils, and how proud Fëanáro had been that day. Now it was beginning to show, and just as she had feared, it did not bring anything good.

There was great sadness in Tirion in the weeks and months that followed, such as the place had not known before, and it was only interrupted when Fëanáro appeared in the city in defiance of the order to the Valar. Nerwen sensed, once more, a great importance of this event. All gathered around Fëanáro as he started to speak, and as he did, she could feel the strength of his will drawing the people in. She was strong enough to resist herself, but the did not have the power to protect the others, and so she stood apart from them in mind, thinking carefully over what was happening.

Fëanáro spoke of revenge, but he also spoke of freedom, of the lands of Middle-Earth that were waiting for them to be taken. He was filled with anger, and in his voice it turned into a power with which he aflamed the hearts of the people. "Shall we mourn here deedless for ever, a shadow-folk, mist-haunting, dropping vain tears in the thankless sea?" He asked. "Or shall we return to our

home? In Cuiviénen sweet ran the waters under unclouded stars, and wide lands lay about, where a free people might walk. There they lie still and await us who in our folly forsook them. Come away! Let the cowards keep this city!" And the crowd listened, with rapt attention, falling slowly but steadily under the spell.

Her father and uncle, unsurprisingly, were strong enough to resist Fëanáro's pull as well, and her brothers and cousins too, but there were not many more who could hold their own against Curufinwë for any length of time. His control would not hold forever, but she feared it would be enough. There was no stopping Fëanáro and the bigger part of Noldor from leaving if it was, and so only one question remained: what should she, and her family, do?

Nerwen thought of Middle-Earth, of the wide open spaces she had been longing for for so long, and saw clearly that after this, there would be no chance for her to see its shores. Once this rebellion took place, the Valar would not give blessing to anyone to leave Aman. As he had been doing slowly for years, Fëanáro was now, with finality, killing her dream.

That was when her fire roared bright, and she thought to herself, no! My life will not be decided by my half-uncle in his grief and madness. I can and will make my own decision, because I do not accept him as king, not someone who brought so much grief to our lives.

And, too, most of their people would go with Fëanáro. She and her kin were princes of the Noldor, and had responsibility to those loyal to them, and could not leave them solely in Fëanáro's hands, for who knew how he would treat them – he had always shown even less care for them than his father.

Thinking thus, Nerwen waited for a lull in Fëanáro's speech. She thought she found it, and went to speak to her relations, when suddenly once again her sight gave way to the strength of visions that assaulted her. They were still unclear, only blood was becoming more and more prominent in them, and it took her a moment to realize the reason for all this: Fëanáro and his sons were swearing an oath, a terrible oath in the name of the One, an oath that could not be broken till the end of the world, to reclaim the Silmarils and slay any who would try to prevent them.

Nerwen stood still, shocked by such folly, her head still reeling from the visions. She searched for Maitimo with her gaze afterwards, but he avoided her eyes.

She did not muster the energy to move again until Fëanáro resumed his speech, and then she approached Findekáno first, knowing her best chances to be there, and said: "If we want to see Middle-Earth, we have to go now."

He looked into her eyes and saw the truth of it there, and so he simply said: "Yes."

That went easier than she would have expected, given that he had always been more hesitant about the idea of leaving than she was, and Nerwen had a moment to wonder whether he was caught in Fëanáro's spell a little after all. But she let it be and went to his father, and spoke to him softly. "Fëanáro controls them, or soon will," she said quietly, "but the charm will pass at some point, and then they will be left only with him, and with no real king to take care of them. We cannot abandon them like that. I know you despise him in this moment, and so do I, but we still cannot leave them."

And once again, Ñolofinwë saw the truth of her words in her eyes and assented. "Moreover," he said, "I made a promise to him, as sorry as I might feel about it now." Turukáno by his side inclined his head too. Nerwen saw Itarillë turn fearful eyes to her, but not even she could deny the truth of these words, and so she only silently took her mother's hand – Elenwë seemed terrified.

Anairë, however, was opposed to it. "This is folly," she said. "If our people wish to forsake the life of bliss we have here for this foolish plan, it is their choice, but we are not bound to follow. I remember the stories of those who came from beyond the Sea. Middle-Earth is not full of silent beauty, it is full of violence and darkness."

"Would you have me abandon my people, then?" Ñolofinwë asked her.

"You are not their king," she replied.

It was, of course, entirely the wrong thing to say, and Nerwen speedily moved away as her Uncle's angry words began to spill from his mouth.

Nerwen's dearest brother, Ingoldo, stood close by, and as she approached him, he said: "I heard your words, sister, and they are true. Valar will not keep us here, I believe."

She frowned. "Are you certain you wish to go, brother? I know the idea of having a land of your own intrigues you somewhat, but..." But he had more reasons to stay than to go, surely.

"Turukáno will not leave his father, and I will not leave Turukáno," Ingoldo answered simply.

"And what about Amarië?" Nerwen asked pointedly. Surely she was owed more loyalty than his best friend.

Ingoldo looked away. "I will ask her to come with me," he said.

Nerwen shook her head. "Brother, she is not even your wife, and she is a Vanya, loyal to the Valar. Why would she go with you?"

He frowned at this question. "Because she loves me," he answered. "You would not understand."

Nerwen looked at him incredulously, but the did not have the strength left to argue at the moment and passed by him to stand by her parents. She did not try to convince them - she knew they would not head her words, and in truth, they had little relevance for them. They did not desire Middle-Earth, and the Noldor were not their responsibility, not even if Fëanáro was discounted as king. Nerwen did not believe there was a place in Middle-Earth for her parents. She loved them, though, and if they were to stay behind, she wanted to bid them proper farewell, at least.

She was unsurprised when, as her father tried to urge caution again, a protest rose against him, but surprised a little that he seemed to accept the will of majority. "Father," she said softly to him, "will you and mother not stay?"

"Will you, or your brothers?" He returned her question.

"No," she admitted. Aikanáro stood firmly by Findekáno's side, and Angaráto was with him as well, though he seemed less determined.

"Then we will not stay either," Arafinwë said simply, and she accepted his decision, selfishly glad she would not have to say her good-byes even as a small voice in her head still insisted they would not be happy beyond the Sea.

The Noldor packed and prepared for the journey in days, but even as the march started, a dissent appeared against Fëanáro who in his arrogance made many enemies, and not all were willing to accept him as king. Most, in fact, expressed their loyalty to Ñolofinwë after seeing that he would leave for Middle-Earth as well, trusting more in his leadership, and Fëanáro stormed off in the direction of the sea only with a small host. Ñolofinwë set out after him with the majority of the Noldor, and Nerwen sighted a breath of relief. That, she believed, gave their people much better chances of survival and success.

She sought out Findekáno and told him: "Go to the beginning of the host with a small group, to make sure our way is clear and there is no treachery awaiting us, prepared by Fëanáro and his people. I sense some danger from that direction," she remembered the blood from her visions with dread, "and I want to keep the people safe."

He assented and left for that task, and Nerwen herself receded to the back rows, where her parents and brothers were. That was when Manwë's messenger appeared, and caused her some more relief. They were not forbidden to leave. That was good. She did not much worry about the warning that the journey would be hard, for she never expected it to be easy, but she turned to her parents and brothers once again, asking if truly they wanted to leave Aman behind. "You always thought we weren't true Noldor, sister," Aikanáro told her in reply, "perhaps the time has come for us to prove we aren't as bad as you assumed." Angaráto muttered his agreement to this, and she saw him give a sidelong glance to his wife – it was not only Nerwen who sometimes thought he lacked fire.

Never before did she see so clearly the difference in wisdom between her and her brothers. "You were never the one whom I criticized for lacking fire, Aikanáro," she said, with all the power she could muster behind her words. "It was for lack of wisdom. This is not a game. This decision is great and life-changing. I have dreamed long of Middle-Earth, and so has Findekáno, and our uncle has responsibility towards his people, but there is nothing that forces you to leave, and many reasons to stay."

"I do not see you making such speeches to Turukáno," Ingoldo said mildly.

"You know perfectly well what I think of Turukáno. He never showed any inclination to listen to me, and I have no reason to believe he would now. He heard my words to Uncle and took them as addressed to himself, too. His heart is set, as well as that of his sister," Irissë would have gone with Fëanáro's host, in fact, had Turukáno not begged her not to, "and I will not waste my breath trying to dissuade them. But you used to listen to me at least a little."

Something flashed in his eyes at these words. "And yet I will not yield. I did not do so for Amarië, I will not do so for you. I do not have to be gone long, but I wish to at least set my eyes on those lands."

Nerwen sighed. Ingoldo had been hurt by Amarië's refusal to go with him, and he was prideful and stubborn now, in his pain. She turned to her parents. "Father? Mother?"

"Our answer stays the same," Arafinwë replied, and Eärwen nodded her assent.

It weighted heavily on Nerwen's heart, and she could not abandon it in thought until they came close to Alqualondë and heard the sounds of battle. Then she ran, headless of all else, and the sight before her pierced her heart like nothing before. She heard her mother's desperate shriek behind her at the sight of her own people being slaughtered, and Nerwen herself had trouble comprehending the sight. How...how was such evil even possible? She searched for Findekáno with her eyes, he who was meant to guard the front of the host against anything of this sort, and when she spied him in the middle of the battle, something broke in her and silent tears fell down her cheeks as she was lost in the terror. So it was no the Enemy who would slaughter those of Alqualondë after all..

They watched, horrified, as all Teleri in sight were killed and Fëanáro's host took control of the ships and began to sail north, and Findekáno then, without stopping, marched on on the shore. Nerwen's family followed him slowly, partly in hopes of finding out what happened, partly in confusion, crossing the bloodied beach, but she began to feel that the suffering that Valar foretold would be much greater than any of them expected. Indeed, it was already turning out to be so. This, then, was the blood she had foreseen.

She knew not what happened in Alqualondë, but could hardly guess anything else but that it was somehow Fëanáro's fault, and she blamed herself bitterly for not taking the position at the front instead of Findekáno. She achieved nothing by her talk with her brothers and parents, and she underestimated the difference in wisdom between herself and her cousin and friend, the very same difference she had always tried to ignore for the sake of their friendship, and to keep her own pride at bay. She made a solemn promise never to lie to herself again.

Angaráto, she saw, was badly shaken by what happened, as was his son. He always liked the company of Eärwen's kin the most of all of her children, and spent much of his time in Alqualondë – on the very shore that was not behind them, covered in blood. But his wife and brother marched on, determined, and so he did as well, more hesitantly. His mind was stripped bare by the horror, and Nerwen could see that the image of Findekáno – his good friend Findekáno – slaying his kin haunted him as he went.

They marched on and they watched the storm that destroyed many of Fëanáro's ships, and Nerwen thought it justice served, at least a little. When it calmed, they continued on their way and she was trying to come to terms with the tragedy even as she was making sure their host kept together, when suddenly they were stopped by the figure of Lord Námo on their path. Her worry rose even higher, if possible, because his hints of the future were hardly ever encouraging, and if the crime of Alqualondë was indeed as fierce as she feared, the Valar would never look at any of the guilty kindly again.

She listened to Lord Námo's ominous voice, and one sentence particularly sounded in her head - "On the House of Fëanáro the wrath of the Valar lies from the West unto the uttermost East, and upon all that will follow them it shall be laid also." The injustice of it made her want to scream. She had wanted to leave for Middle-Earth before Fëanáro even conceived of the idea, and now she was told she was following him simply because she recognized this as her one chance and was unwilling to let it go. And at that moment, she realized that she could not heed the warning, and could not stay. If she was being forced to choose between Aman and Middle-Earth for ever, she would have to choose Middle-Earth, come what it may. She would not be herself if she did not. There was unbendeable strength in her that simply did not allow to submit to a ruling she regarded as so unjust.

Nevertheless, she fell to her knees in front of her parents, taking their hands, and begged them: "Please, please, stay."

"You still intend to leave, even after you heard this?" Her father asked in shock.

"I must; you know why, even though you do not understand. But there is nothing forcing you, and I beg you, take mother and return to the Valar."

Arafinwë turned his sight to his sons. "And you?" He asked.

Ingoldo shook his head. "I do have some Noldorin fire inside of me," he said. "I can see future in front of me in Middle-Earth. If my sister is to have a realm of her own, then so will I, the place where the most beautiful works of art will be made."

"Not even now will you think of Amarië?" Nerwen asked. "Not even when you know you will not be able to return to her?"

"Spare me your insistence," Ingoldo replied. "We will be slain, as Lord Námo said. I have killed no one, and I have faith that eventually I will be allowed to come back from his halls. Then she can have me for the rest of the ages, but I will set my eyes on Middle-Earth first."

Nerwen found herself beyond words at this speech, and Arafinwë turned to his remaining sons. Aikanáro said, speaking for Angaráto too, as was his wont: "We have talked with Findekáno many times about the realms he would rule in Middle-Earth, and we promised to take part in it if he ever got the chance. We will not leave them now."

Nerwen felt very bitter now for encouraging her brothers' friendship with her closest friend, in her attempt to stir the fire of one and encourage the wisdom of the other. Angaráto seemed not to be quite as certain as his brother about leaving, and Artaresto clearly longed to return, but Eldalótë spoke, saying: "Fëanáro's deed was not our own. We would never follow one who slew our cousins, but we will follow your brother across the Sea – we will not leave those realms to be a reward for a murderer!"

There hardly was anything Angaráto could respond to that, so he only nodded, under his wife's and brother's look, and clasped his son's hand tightly. Ingoldo spoke again, saying: "And I will not leave them, father. Take mother and go back to the Valar, and I will take care of them all."

Arafinwë gave a sad look to all of his children, and then said: "I cannot go, not against the will of the Valar and with those who slew my wife's kin. Fare as well as you can in Middle-Earth, and listen to your sister's advices. She has always had the most wisdom of all of you."

Nerwen had to blink away tears at this pronouncement from her father, one she had wished she could hear for so long. But there were more important matters to settle. "Will you not at least send Artaresto back with Father?" She asked her brother desperately.

"Would you rob me of my son?" Eldalótë replied for him, with such viciousness that Nerwen fell silent.

They were embracing and saying their farewells when Anairë appeared by them, furious. "What of you, sister and cousin," she asked, turning to Eärwen. "Will you, too, follow this foolishness?"

Eärwen seemed taken aback at this vehemence, and still to struck by grief over Alqualondë to say anything, so her husband replied for her: "No, sister – we are returning to beg forgiveness of the Valar."

"Good, then – allow me to go with you."

"Aunt!" Nerwen cried, horrified. "Has Uncle changed his mind?"

"No indeed, but I am not obliged to follow him in every foolishness."

Now it was Arafinwë who was too struck to speak, and Eärwen who replied, quietly: "But what of your marriage vows?"

"There is but one loyalty from which none can be absolved," Anairë replied in a hard voice. "'Tis a pity my husband does not remember this."

And so it happened that Nerwen's sight was blurred by tears once again as they continued on their journey, and as they heard Arafinwë and Anairë calling that all who wanted to return were welcome to do so with them.

The rest marched or sailed on, and stopped only as they approached the Helcaraxë, where they debated what to do now. And when she saw Fëanáro's ships departing, Nerwen's vision cleared by another degree and she knew in that moment that the Ice lay in their future. Terror gripped her heart, for those lands were terrible, and she tried to quell the hatred that flared in her for Fëanáro, but with little success.

Ñolofinwë ordered to wait until the ships returned for them, and Nerwen did not have the heart to tell him they would not. Instead, she went in search of Findekáno while they waited. She found him by the sea, staring towards Middle-Earth, terror in his eyes.

She merely stood next to him in silence for a long while, then asked: "What happened in Alqualondë?"

"I do not rightly know," he admitted in a distant voice. "If the Valar say that we slew its guardians unjustly then I suppose it must be true, but I arrived in the middle of the battle, and simply hurried to defend out kin."

"Even when you knew Fëanáro was at the head of that host? You knew the extent of his madness."

Findekáno shook his head, still not looking at her. "I did not – not that it extended as far as kinslaying."

"You know it was him who drew the sword on his own half-brother, your father!" She cried.

That finally made him look, directly into her eyes. "There is a world of difference between drawing a sword and killing someone with it," he replied, his voice echoing with the painful, horrible experience, and his eyes shining with unshed tears.

Nerwen stayed silent. She knew she could hardly fault Findekáno for not having the foresight she had, but she found she could not entirely forgive him his part in this, caused by his failure to consider a situation. She would not hold a grudge against him, but she felt a rift appearing between them, caused by the horror of death. She, too, like her brother, could not forget the image of Findekáno, sword in hand, his tunic red with the blood of her kin.

The days they spent waiting in Araman were cruel, cold and empty, and when Ñolofinwë finally realized Fëanáro left them behind, all could sense his anger. Nerwen knew her uncle, though, and knew such anger would only drive him forward. She did not try to argue, because she knew that bridge had been burned when they had not heeded Lord Námo's words. Valinor was no longer open for them, so what choice but the Helcaraxë did they have?

Faced with the horror of it, however, made her realize the extent of her guilt. As she saw her kin dying around her, as she saw Elenwë fall with exhaustion and slip into the cold waters and perish, and with her many of those who tried to save her, as she saw the despair and ruin, she bitterly rued the moment she helped convince Ñolofinwë to leave Aman. Her reasons had been true, and her sight had been clear at the time, but now she resented any responsibility she had for any one of those elves who were suffering and dying around her. Perhaps Ñolofinwë would have marched anyway, and perhaps everything would have been the same, but at least she would have known she had no fault in it. She did not regret the choice for herself, but as she comforted Itarillë in her grief and tried to give her the strength needed to continue on the march, she was burned by shame over the fact that she could not prevent the presence of those she swore to protect. Her brothers, and Itarillë, but also others, those she counted among her people, her more distant kin. Death and suffering was all around her, and after years of urging the people on when they marched, and letting her dearest friend weep on her shoulder when they stopped, after years of silent looks and whispered words shared with Ingoldo as they tried to keep their cousin and his daughter alive, and their people as well, helping the weakest and most desperate and giving them strength while Ñolofinwë and Findekáno marched at the front of the host and attempted to inspire...after all this, she realized that her banishment had not, after all, been unjust: she might have had no hand in the killing in Alqualondë, but nothing she ever did would make up for having a part in this. She had no right to blame Findekáno, or indeed any of the sons of Fëanáro, for there was as much blood on her hands now.

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AN: Yeah, that was a fun chapter to write.

Apart from the Silmarillion quotes, there are also some almost-quotes from one of the songs from my favourite band's Tolkienist album. If you caught some, have a cookie! (They appear at various places of this story, actually, so the cookie promise stands till the end.)

Oh, and only one name this time: Artaresto - Orodreth


	5. Pain

AN: Another note on languages, since this will be the first chapter where there will be some Sindar-speaking going on. I write it as a slightly-less formal English, and also you can tell they're speaking Sindarin by the names being in that language…

(Only, of course, the local names are a bitch in this. Where possible, I try to use the English names, but there are cases when the only established name is the Sindarin one, so I have no choice but to use it, even when they're supposed to be speaking Quenya. Like, I could translate it, obviously, but then you'd have no clue what I'm talking about...)

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 **Chapter 5: Pain**

 _Year 1 of the Sun, Middle-Earth_

As her uncle's army marched to the gates of Angband in the rising sun, hope warred with fear in Nerwen. Could she still trust her uncle's wisdom, she wondered, or would he be the cause of the ruin of all his people?

But in spite of his anger and bitterness, Ñolofinwë was not such a fool as his half-brother, and after making his presence known to the Enemy, he ordered his people to retreat, looking for Fëanáro to settle his debts. They followed the rumours that trees and birds whispered to them and tracked his host to a land by a lake, and that was when they learned that Curufinwë, the eldest son of the old High King of the Noldor, was dead.

Nerwen's heart bled at the knowledge, for even in spite of all the anger and yes, even hatred she had had in her heart for Fëanáro, and knowing the madness he had descended into, she remembered his greatness too, and remembered him before his heart was corrupted, and his death pained her.

Keeping her promise not to lie to herself, she admitted that the fault of his fall did not lie fully with the Enemy – the seeds had always been there, and Moricotto had only watered them incessantly. Still, there was enough to mourn after such a great elf's death.

There were also more practical concerns. The leadership of their people now passed to Maitimo, and Nerwen was hopeful in expectation of more reasonable relations with the part of the Noldor who did not choose Ñolofinwë as their leader...until they asked for him, and found out that Maitimo had been taken captive.

Now Nerwen's heart broke again, in deeper pain, because in spite of everything, she still counted Maitimo as her friend, one of the two of Fëanáro's sons who were not fully consumed by their father's madness. She turned to Findekáno and they wept together, for of all descendants of Indis, the two of them were closest to their cousin.

As the sun progressed across the sky, Nerwen began to once again weight the practical effects, in spite of her sorrow. This time, it did not give her hope, and not even Findekáno could find it in himself to regard the future in so bright a light as he usually did. There was no one strong enough left to lead Fëanáro's host – neither she nor Findekáno had any quarrel with Macalaurë, but he simply did not have his brother's authority. It showed clearly only a day later, when his army retreated to a different part of the land to avoid contact with Ñolofinwë's people, instead of trying to make amends, as Nerwen knew in her heart Maitimo would have done. She, herself, thought it would have been accepted, too, now that Fëanáro, the main cause of their suffering in the Ice, was dead. She would certainly have counselled her uncle to accept it. But they could not be the first to offer peace, not after such great evil had been done to them, and without Maitimo, there was little hope that the sons of Fëanáro would offer it at all.

She talked it over at length with Findekáno, their hearts bleeding, and then she went in search of her brothers, to offer what counsel she could. They did not have as much sympathy as her for Maitimo, and even less for Fëanáro, but they rejoiced in death of no elf, and their clearer minds allowed them to discuss the possible future scenarios in a more level-headed manner. "Surely," Ingoldo said, "the younger sons of Fëanáro will listen to Macalaurë..."

"If they would, we would be safe, but I have no faith in that," Nerwen said glumly. "Tyelkormo hardly listens to anyone, he would have been a handful even for Maitimo, and Carnistir is scarcely easier to control, though in a different way."

"As for Tyelkormo," Eldalótë commented, "he might be uncontrollable, but he has the least grudge against us, I believe."

"He does not care either way," Aikanáro agreed.

"Not on his own," Nerwen replied, "but do not forget that Atarinkë hardly ever leaves his side. The favourite son of Fëanáro has no respect for Macalaurë either, and he was the most antagonistic towards us even while we all still lived in Tirion. And if Tyelkormo listens to someone, it is this brother."

They discussed such topics for some time, and then Nerwen headed to Ñolofinwë, to offer her services there. She expected to find Findekáno with him, but he was not present, and neither his father nor his brother knew where to find him. She worried again, and so she calmed her mind and searched for him – and what she found made her cry out in horror, and then she sunk to her knees where she stood and prayed to the Valar. "Lords of the West," she said, "I know I have forsaken any right to ask you to hear my words when I left Aman against your orders, but I beg you to hear my prayer nevertheless, not for my sake, but for the sake of my people, who only followed their princes and whose blame is surely smaller than mine. Do not let us lose two of our noblest, Findekáno and Maitimo. Ñolofinwë would not forgive that his eldest son perished in search for one of Fëanáro's, and there would be more strife between our hosts. Do not forsake our people, I beg you, and let at least one of them return to us, so that we can heal the breach between us and stand united against the Enemy, at least for a time, before the doom you have foretold us comes to pass."

So she spoke to the Lords she abandoned in her rebellion, her heart clenched in desperate fear for those she loved. She stayed praying without food or water until the time when a giant eagle appeared, bringing both of her cousins back to her.

That was when her heart knew hope again, and as the Noldor from Fëanáro and Ñolofinwë alike ran to welcome them, she was the first among them, and encircling both of her cousins in a firm embrace, she immediately took Maitimo in her arms and carried him to the shores of the lake to wash his wounds and tend to him with everything Lady Estë ever taught her. She noticed one of those who had helped her care of the weakest in the Ice and called: "Brannor, bring me my healing supplies!"

He seemed to hesitate – he knew the cost of Fëanáro and his sons' treason better then most – but in the end, he obeyed, and she finally looked at Maitimo.

It was difficult. His face was drawn, bearing clear marks of suffering, he was thin, and one of his hands had been cut off, but Nerwen shied from the horror she felt over the pain that he must have gone through. There would be time to cry later, as well as to thank the Valar for the fact that he had been returned to them at all – she had a job to do now.

Brannor ran back with what she needed, and Nerwen could finally start to work. As she did, Maitimo opened his eyes. "We should never have left you behind," he said weakly as he watched her. "Had you been with us, my father might have still been alive."

She thought he might very well be right – it would be very much in accordance with the doom the Valar foretold them if it was Fëanáro's evil itself that directly brought on his ruin.

As Maitimo rested, their uncle came to see him, cautious in his approach, many Noldorin nobles behind him. Maitimo, sensing them, opened his eyes again and raised his head, and when he saw who came, he rose – despite Nerwen's protests – and fell to his knees. He said: "Forgive us, my lord and uncle, the betrayal that we committed against you. It was great, I know, and I cannot have any claim on your mercy, yet I beg for it nonetheless. I would undo it if I could, but the only thing I can offer is that we have not been unpunished – we have lost our beloved father, and even though you had just grievances against him surely you know how such loss pains us. We have lost him because we left you behind in our pride, with your strong armies and your skilled healers. I do not know if that is enough of a price in your eyes, but I beg for forgiveness nevertheless."

Nerwen held her breath and looked at her uncle beseechingly, and was relieved and hopeful when she saw he was moved by Maitimo' speech and put a hand on his shoulder and said: "Rise, my half-brother's son. I accept your apology and your remorse. You have paid for your mistake dearly indeed, and the one who instigated the betrayal is dead. I have no quarrel left with you."

But Maitimo stayed kneeling, and only said: "I thank you, my lord, from the depth of my heart."

Ñolofinwë frowned. "Why do you call me lord? Your father claimed the title of king – as was within his rights – and it passed from him to you."

And here Maitimo shook his head and said, in a strong voice: "If there lay no grievance between us, lord, still the kingship would rightly come to you, the eldest here of the house of Finwë, and not the least wise. And my father estranged himself from his people and many of them choose you to follow, and we betrayed them with a great treason. I cannot claim to be their king when I abandoned them to cross the Grinding Ice. No, my lord, the title is rightfully yours."

That was more than even Nerwen had expected of Maitimo, and hope blossomed more strongly still in her, that the rift between the Noldor could be healed yet. She also saw, however, that some of Maitimo' brothers were not happy with his decision. She attempted not to let it worry her – as long as their brother lived, they would respect his decision, so it was now her job to make sure he did.

Ñolofinwë made Maitimo rise this time, to embrace him after he accepted his fealty, and then turned to receive it from others of Fëanáro's host. Nerwen was now free to take care of Maitimo once again. "My gratefulness to you is boundless," she told him.

"As is mine to you, since you are saving my life, so at least we do not owe each other anything." His eyes were closed again. "I hoped you would approve."

"I do, even though I believe you could have been quite a good king too, in more usual circumstances. But you are right that for those of us who crossed the frozen wastelands, it would not be easy to accept you or any of your brothers, even as we know the fault was your father's."

Maitimo heaved a deep sigh. "I remember you feeling sorry your father did not have enough fire," he said. "I hope now you see why it might have been an advantage. It hurts, seeing how wrong he had been." He paused. "I did not know." He said then. "Do not tell anyone else, I do not want to appear as one making excuses, but I did not know he intended to leave you there. I was shocked to find out on this shore, shocked and scared."

Nerwen smiled sadly. "I knew."

He attempted to rise to look at her, but she pressed him back down. "Lie still," she said. "Yes, I saw there was Helcaraxë in our future as soon as you left on the ships. I did not foresee, however, the true horror of it." She shook her head. "I cannot think of it now, or I will never heal you. I am trying to cast my mind back to the Gardens of Lórien, to find the strength I need."

"I would help you, but you know I hardly ever walked there."

"Yes, I know. Few Noldor ever did. I think if they had, perhaps there would be less grief among our people." But then, perhaps they would not be the Noldor any more.

Maitimo chuckled weakly. "I walked in the Halls of Mandos sometimes, but I do not think talking of that would make healing any easier."

Nerwen smiled in response. "No," she said, "probably not."

When she had done all she could for now and the healing was left to Maitimo' strength for a time – in which she had complete faith – she went in search of Findekáno. He was by his father's side, overseeing the oaths of fealty, but he was clearly tired and she pulled him aside and embraced him again, and said: "You reckless, valiant fool."

Her cousin laughed. "Not quite the praise I have been receiving from the others, but then I never expect that from you."

"What would we have done if we had lost both you and Maitimo?" She asked pointedly.

He shrugged. "There was still my father. You know I would not have gone if I had his responsibility."

"And do you think his spirit would have survived it if you died there?" She insisted.

"As long as Turukáno and Itarillë remained, yes," he replied, momentarily serious. "It would have survived for them."

"Perhaps, but badly damaged. That is not good for a king. You were brave, Findekáno, and you just might have saved us all by your bravery, but someone else should have gone."

He smiled cheekily. "No one else was brave enough."

Nerwen had to fight with her conscience, because part of her was telling her it should have been her who went. Findekáno, knowing her well, saw it in her mind and his demeanour changed immediately. "Do you not dare as much as thinking about it," he said sharply. "I went because I love him and we need him, yes, but I also had a debt to pay. Not a debt to Maitimo, true, but I cannot return those we slew in Alqualondë to life. I could save another, however, and perhaps that will be a small step on the way to my redemption, perhaps it will ease the guilt I carry with me every minute of every day since that dreadful moment, like an acute pain. Perhaps it will allow me to truly live once again, without the constant torment. Sometimes, I think I did it as much for myself as I did it for him or our people."

She shook her head. "But I have guilt to wash away as well, guilt that pains my soul, do you not see? The guilt of the Ice, for was it not me who helped to convince your father to go? And so many died here...there is as much blood on my hands as on yours."

He did not try to argue with that. "Perhaps," he said. "But you say I am needed here, and you might be right, but you are needed more. My father could have continued ruling after my death, or Turukáno could have after him, not perhaps to your perfect satisfaction, but well enough...but everyone here needs your advice, and your healing powers. There are still many injured and weak from the Helcaraxë, and even after all are healed, there will always be need for your advice. Promise me, Nerwen, that you will never risk your life in such a manner. There are enough brave fools among the Noldor, but not nearly enough wise Elves. Please, promise me."

Nerwen hesitated. "It seems too arrogant, to believe my life is more valuable than others'..."

"It would be if it was you who made that judgement. But I am telling you, and I want that promise."

She remembered her father's last words to her and her brothers, and how in accordance with what Findekáno was saying they were. But still...

"If I am so wise," she said, "how come I have not tried to stop us from leaving?"

"You have dreamed of this for hundreds of years," he said gently. "Do not blame yourself for wanting to follow this dream."

Nerwen recalled now what she had once said to Olórin, and repeated it, after a fashion: "If I want a claim on being wise, I have to blame myself."

Findekáno smiled. "Then by all means do, but I still want that promise."

She consider for a while longer, then inclined her head. "Very well, then. I promise you that unless all my wisdom tells me no one else can do the task, I will not put my life to unnecessary risks."

"Thank you."

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Maitimo was healed in time, or as much as he could be, and so were the injured from the Ice. Nerwen did her best to help them, and thanks to her, Brannor and some others who worked with them, they lost none of those who survived the Helcaraxë itself. The time of healing was over, and the time of building life in this new land they came to began.

They sent scouts, and discovered they were in a land separated by mountain ranges from the rest of the wide, open spaces to be found here. They tried to speak with the local Elves, but it was slow and difficult – the locals did not understand Quenya any more, and mostly did not trust the newcomers enough to open their minds to them. While Ñolofinwë and his sons were busy organizing the Noldor, Nerwen, Ingoldo and some others took up the task of gaining friends among the inhabitants of Middle-Earth and learning their language – and teaching them Quenya as well, though the second seemed an almost impossible task.

They called themselves Sindar – or Thindrim in their language – and when asked about it after Nerwen finally knew enough of their speech to communicate properly, Ambë, the friendliest of them all, named Amonel in Sindarin, explained: "There are you, the Elves of Light, who went West. Then there are the Dark Elves, who refused to go or soon abandoned the journey. And then there's us – we went as far as the Sea, and stayed only for our King, Elu Thingol, and we saw the light of the West reflected in our Queen – and we're in between, see? So we're the Grey Ones."

"You're our long lost kin!" Nerwen realized. Those that had stayed behind, the ones that her relations in Alqualondë – a stab of pain accompanied that memory – always liked to remember. Angaráto and Artaresto would be very interested to know. And… "King Elu? Who is he?"

"Oh – he would be..." Ambë scrunched up her forehead, thinking. "From what you told me...I think he would be called Elwe in your language, and there might still be some memory of him left."

"Elwë is your king?" Nerwen asked, surprised.

"Yes, why do you ask? Do you know him? Are you one of those who woke at Cuiviénen?"

Nerwen smiled at this, gratified by the implicit compliment. "No, I don't know him – except from the memory you mentioned, for he's my great-uncle. My mother is Eärwen, daughter of King Olwë of Alqualondë, ruler of the Teleri beyond the Sea."

Ambë immediately rose and bowed to her. "Forgive me, my lady," she said, "I didn't know."

Nerwen smiled again. "It's interesting," she said, "that knowing I was niece to our king didn't made you desirous to bow, and yet being more distantly related to King Elwë – Elu - does."

"I don't much care about your king," Ambë replied simply, "though of course I would bow to _him_. But King Elu is dear to me. I'm kin to Lord Círdan of Falas, who awoke at Cuiviénen before him and by his side, and who has been his guide for years, until the king established his realm in the forests of Region and Neldoreth and my uncle stayed by the coast."

"You are far from the coast, here, and far from any forests as well," Nerwen pointed out.

"Oh, I was only passing – we were sent as messengers to the Elves who live here," Ambë explained. "But of course I chose to stay longer once I met you. Elves come from the West, we have not seen that before!"

Nerwen considered this. "That means you are widely travelled. Would you tell me more about the lands we are in?"

And Ambë did. Her speech was full of Sindarin names Nerwen found hard to translate and easier to remember as they were. The last and most important of them was Beleriand, which was apparently the great land south of the mountains they had crossed to reach the lake – which was called Mithrim, it seemed. "King Elu claims the title of King of Beleriand," Ambë explained, "so you should probably not settle there without his leave. He directly rules only Region and Neldoreth, though. Falas, which is the area around the coast, is ruled by my uncle, and the rest is controlled by small wandering groups of elves. But they all owe loyalty to King Elu. He is the High King of the Sindar. You'll find groups not loyal to him only south-east of Beleriand, in Ossiriand beyond river Gelion, but even they are friendly to us."

"So the only lands for us to settle in are these northern, inhospitable ones?" Not quite what Fëanáro had promised, Nerwen thought to herself a little bitterly. It was not quite what she had expected or hoped for either, if she was honest. And yet her great uncle Ingwë had warned her...if only she had listened.

"I'm sure you'd find some free, open lands East of the Blue Mountains," Ambë replied, "but those lands are dark, and the Shadow lies heavily upon them. The presence of our Queen – and now yours, I suppose – holds it at bay here."

"Yes, that Queen – you've already mentioned her, and said you see the Light reflected in her. How so?"

Ambë smiled. "Oh, do you not know? Our lady came from the West, and she is one of the powerful spirits that dwell there...only she fell in love with our king, and stayed for him."

Nerwen was astonished. "Your Queen...is a Maia?"

"If that is what you call it, then yes."

"I didn't even know that was possible..." Nerwen muttered. If she had, perhaps she'd have acted a little differently towards Olórin – but then, she'd have probably only made a fool of herself, so it was likely better this way.

"Well, it's the only case we know of, too," Ambë replied, "but we had thought perhaps it was more common in the West."

"I have never heard of such a thing." Nerwen shook her head to clear it. "I'd like to meet this Queen of yours, and my great-uncle as well, but it'll be a while before I'll be free to go. There is too much to do here for now. But tell me, is there any more I should know? Any more kingdoms, any independent peoples?"

"Well," Ambë replied, "there are the Dwarves and the Ents…"

Nerwen's astonishment knew no bounds.

She talked to Ambë for hours and then went to appraise her uncle of the news, for he did not speak Sindarin yet and could not find out for himself. "So we will distribute these northern realms among ourselves," was his reply to the most important piece of information. "We have not come to rob anyone of anything. And Nerwen..." he paused, hesitated, and said heavily: "I hope to continue to profit from your advice, but I cannot give you a land of your own."

Nerwen could only stare, incredulous.

"We have little enough land allotted to us, only these dangerous borderlands," he explained, "and I have two sons of my own, and you have three brothers, each with their own following, while you have almost none. And there are the sons of Fëanáro and their people to think of as well, I will have to give them something."

Upon hearing that, Nerwen left without a word.

She felt betrayed by everyone in that moment, by Findekáno killing her kin, by her uncle denying her what he knew she had wanted for centuries, by her brothers coming here when they had no true desire to, and so taking the lands that should have been hers...and to think that she was to be denied this, yet the kinslaying sons of Fëanáro would gain their wish!

It hurt, it hurt deeply, and thinking of the bliss and beauty she left behind for Middle-Earth only to be denied by the uncle she had always loved and trusted – it made bitter tears spring into her eyes. A regret that she had ever left flared briefly in her, but she squashed it ruthlessly. Even with all this disappointment, she would have more of a chance to do something useful here than she ever had in Aman. Some of her dreams could still come true. But what she could regret, and did now more than ever, was that she had helped to convince Ñolofinwë to go.

But there was no time for wallowing in self-pity in these harsh lands, and so Nerwen pushed her pain aside by the next day and set to work helping with the establishment of their kingdom, though she could hardly talk to her uncle except on some administrative matter.

And some of her dreams did come true. The neri spent most of their time guarding the lands, and so a good portion of the work on the cities and fortresses was left to the nissi. In such circumstances, Nerwen naturally found herself as the leader.

In the order of succession, each Noldorin prince was allowed choose a land out of the regions at their disposal, and set his own womenfolk to work on the construction, but Nerwen oversaw all of it, and made sure there were no conflicts arising over the matter. She moved from place to place for now, but decided that her own house would be build in Findekáno's land, just west from Mithrim, where Ñolofinwë would be staying, separated from it by a small mountain ridge. She needed to be close enough to her uncle to be able to advise him, but she certainly had no wish to live in his lands now. Her house would not be too far from Ingoldo either, and through his lands she could get to her remaining two brothers, who chose a land to rule together. She would be furthest from Itarillë, whose father decided to settle close to the coast. She regretted this bitterly, for her friend and cousin needed her after Elenwë's death, and besides, Itarillë was the only one left who never betrayed Nerwen, never disappointed her in any way. But Turukáno wished to be apart from all others in his grief. Itarillë was better now, the sharpest of her pain spent in the Ice, and she sternly forbid Nerwen to as much as think about moving to the edges of the realm with them. "Your task," she said firmly, "is here, building this kingdom. I will help my father in his sorrow."

The realm and its towns grew slowly but steadily, as did the scouting of the lands the Noldor came to. When their messengers finally brought the news of a land protected by some powerful magic, Nerwen set out to Tol Sirion to speak with her brother, who was now home from his guard duty.

"Go to visit King Elwë," she said, "or send one of our brothers. He is our great-uncle, and I would go myself immediately if I was not needed here."

Ingoldo contemplated this. "I cannot go myself – there is too much to do here still."

"Then send Angaráto," Nerwen replied. "Aikanáro and Eldalótë can guard Dorthonion in his absence, he will wish to meet King Elwë, and he is a good diplomat."

"Your advice is sound as always, little sister," Ingoldo said with a slight ironic inflection Nerwen tried very hard not to hear. "And how does the construction of your own house go?"

"It is little more than a wooden shack, with how much time I have for it!" She said with a laugh. "But I am making plans as I work on other things, and after all else is done, I will take every care in the world with it."

"Return to it soon, then," he bid her, "and I will send Angaráto to deal with our great-uncle. I am as curious as you are!"

Nerwen did leave in only a few days, though not to take care of her own house. A council was to be held soon, and there was much to be done to prepare.

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Angaráto returned from his diplomatic mission just in time for the council, and Nerwen was disquieted when he reported that he had received a very cold welcome from King Elwë. However, that was nothing compared to how she felt when she heard Carnistir's responding speech. "Let not the sons of Arafinwë run hither and thither with their tales to this Dark Elf in his caves!" He said. "Who made them our spokesmen to deal with him? And though they be come indeed to _Beleriand_ , let them not so swiftly forget that their father is a lord of the Noldor, though their mother be of other kin." That was a mean-spirited jab at Angaráto, who, as all present knew, always preferred the company of the Teleri to that of the Noldor, with few choice exceptions. And spoken by one who slew their kin in Alqualondë, it was even more hurtful.

She was not the only one worried by such speech – she saw disquiet in the eyes of all, even as Angaráto and Eldalótë left the council then, feeling injured, and justly so. Maitimo rebuked Carnistir, as Nerwen knew he would, but she also knew it would not be enough to settle the worry. And when the council dispersed soon after this, she postponed speaking with her brothers to go to Maitimo.

"I have expected you," he told her.

Nerwen smiled sadly. "You are aware of the danger," she said.

"Indeed. You know the mood in your host better, though, so tell me – how troubled are they?"

"Very. I saw in their eyes that they fear another betrayal, or at least a refusal to respect the king."

Maitimo sighed heavily. "I feared it would be so. Well, leave it to me then – I know what to do to avoid conflict, even though I have hoped it would not come to that. After all, your brother did say that in spite of Elwë's cold tone, we were allowed to dwell in more lands than we had expected by your great-uncle."

Nerwen glimpsed something of what was in his heart, and so she embraced him tightly before seeking her brothers.

Angaráto was angry, something he rarely was, and his fury was exceeded by Aikanáro's and Eldalótë's, who were both pacing the tent. Ingoldo and Artaresto were attempting to calm them, while clearly waiting for Nerwen. "Where have you been, sister?" Ingoldo asked. "We need to decide what to do."

"Speaking with Maitimo," she replied, "and he admits fully Carnistir's fault, and promised me to solve the situation."

"How?" Angaráto asked bitterly.

"His brothers will not be controlled, not completely," Eldalótë added.

"I believe he intends to take his brothers and leave Hithlum."

There was silence as the siblings contemplated the idea. "So we cannot continue without a breach after all," Ingoldo observed then.

"He will leave precisely so that we can," Nerwen corrected. "We will not live together, yes, but we will live in peace and as allies, something I and him both believe would be impossible for long if they stayed here."

This news calmed Angaráto, and his wife and brother were placated as well, to a degree, and so Nerwen felt justified in leaving her closest kin to settle into this knowledge while she left them to find Ñolofinwë and his sons, to discuss this new development.


	6. Contentment?

AN: Language issues continue to give me nightmares. Would Nerwen translate the Sindarin names in her head, when she knows the language? I've decided that probably not, but that she'd translate them when speaking with someone who doesn't know Sindarin very well. So I'll try to consistently keep to that approach, and the same goes for translating Quenyan names into Sindarin at this point in time – later, they'll all have their official Sindarin translation and use that whenever speaking Sindarin, but I think it's too early for that.

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 **Chapter 6: Contentment?**

 _Year 16 of the Sun, Hithlum_

Nerwen looked over the lands of the Noldor, and her heart swelled with pride.

They had build much in the short time they had spent here, the time she knew would not even be two years in the Blessed Lands. And in spite of all the pain and guilt and betrayal, she found a lot of what she came for in Middle-Earth.

She was not so foolish as to think that the doom the Valar foretold them would not come to pass, and she had seen the towers of Thangorodrim and knew that against that enemy, they stood no chance. But for now, it was mostly quiet, and if she was not exactly happy, than she was at least, in many ways, content.

It was not unmarred, naturally. She did not think that was possible outside of Aman, and then, her happiness had not been so even there. It used to be unquiet that disturbed her, now, apart from the knowledge that darkness would yet come, it was other things. The guilt over her part in the suffering of the Ice never left her. She felt bad, too, for leaving Itarillë alone at the coast, only with Turukáno and Irissë for company. And sometimes, when she looked at Findekáno, she still saw him covered in blood, as he had stood in Alqualondë – and she knew Angaráto suffered from this memory even more, perhaps because he did not have the guilt she did to help him understand better. While Aikanáro still often came from their lands to visit his good friend, Angaráto rarely ever did, for he could not look him in the eyes.

And then, of course, there was what she saw as her uncle's betrayal.

She did not quite understand it, for Ñolofinwë made it clear that he valued her advice very much and needed her by his side. She was held important in the ranks of the Noldor and her council was heard, so why did he not give her her own piece of land, even a small one? Her initial anger had passed and she was speaking to her uncle again, but some of the cordiality was missing, and she was reminded a little of the time in Aman before Fëanáro's banishment. That gave her hope that their relationship would improve again, as it had before.

Another thing that had troubled her in Valinor did not leave her either: she was still lonely. In fact, with the estrangement of her uncle and, partly, of Findekáno as well, and Itarillë living so far, she was more lonely than before, even though she did grow closer to her eldest brother. Ingoldo had always been a little disapproving of her openly ambitious nature and was forever attempting to direct her – even, perhaps, to control her in some small measure. But now, being the head of the family and ruling his own land gave him more understanding of her, and did away with the traces of jealousy she saw in him sometimes, giving self-assurance enough that it became easier for him to accept her advice without rancour. So his company became more precious to Nerwen, but it did not entirely fill the emptiness she sometimes felt.

And she missed acutely, too, the soothing presence Aman had. Here there were no Gardens of Lórien to calm her mind and heart when it grew to heavy, no Lord Olórin to speak words of wisdom to her, no peaceful house of her Vanyar relations. For a large part, she was alone with her troubles, and sometimes they weighted heavily.

And yet she _was_ content most of the time, seeing the Noldor flourish, seeing her advice come to fruition and bring good things about, and managing her own house, built according to her own wishes. It was spacious enough to allow room for people who came to visit her, seeking council and healing, and it had a magnificent view of Findekáno's lands. Work was beginning now on tunnels that would lead across the mountain ranges to the lands of her uncle and brother, so that she did not have to cross the mountains every time she went to see them.

Yes, Nerwen was content in this world. She gave the plains one last look before setting out on her journey to Nevrast.

She rode from one nobleman's house to another, welcomed everywhere and her services of healing and advice rendered willingly, and then she crossed Ered Lómin to Turukáno's land.

It was always more tightly guarded than the other Noldorin lands - Turukáno had always been careful in this way, and grew even more so since the death of his wife. Nerwen could see his guard watching her as she crossed the border, but they did not contact her and she continued to her cousin's house on the shore.

He smiled at her warmly when she arrived. "Nerwen," he said. "Itarillë has missed you."

"I know, and I have missed her as well. I love the wide open lands of Middle-Earth, but the distance they put between us is their one disadvantage." She neglected to mention that had Turukáno not insisted on building his capital in the furthest possible part of Nevrast, it would not have been so bad.

"You speak the truth." He sighed. "I wish my daughter would get on better with my sister."

Nerwen laughed at that. "You know well it is an impossibility. They are too different." She refrained, too, from pointing out that his sister hardly got on with anyone, excepting Turukáno and some of the sons of Fëanáro.

"Yes," he admitted. "Sometimes I think you have ruined her."

If Findekáno had said this, Nerwen would have known it was in jest. With Turukáno, she feared he was serious.

"You know it was the other way round, cousin," she replied carefully. "Only when I saw she was too much a Nolde to be after her mother's heart, and too much a Vanya to be after her aunt's, did I take her under my wing."

"Because she was like you," Turukáno replied with a touch of bitterness. Did he wish he had a daughter more like Elenwë, to better remember his wife by?

"Not entirely, no," Nerwen replied patiently, "but more like me than like your wife or Irissë, yes. Itarillë is chiefly her own, but I was able to understand parts of her that those of her closer kin could not. You would not withhold that from your daughter?"

"You know I would withhold nothing from her."

That was very true, and another reason why Nerwen was glad she had taken a hand in her cousin's education. She smiled at Turukáno now, and went in search of the lady.

Itarillë laughed brightly upon seeing her. "A joyous hour," she said. "I was beginning to think I would have to run away from my father to go and see you."

Nerwen shook her head. "You know you would never do that."

"No," she admitted. "But I was desperate to see you, nevertheless."

"And I you."

"What news from our king and my uncle?" Itarillë asked curiously. "My father rarely tells me much."

"To his great loss," Nerwen commented. She knew that after his wife's death, Turukáno tried to treat Irissë as the new first lady of his lands, but she was unsuited to this role and unwilling to conform to it, and she never could offer any sound advice. Itarillë, Nerwen knew, would have done much better. "But in his defence, there is not much to tell at this time. The Enemy keeps to his fortress for now, mostly, and all is well in the realms for Ñolofinwë and Findekáno, and my brothers."

"And how does your own house fare?"

Nerwen smiled, glad that Itarillë understood her so well. "Well, too," she said. "The main building is completed, though there is still some artist's work to be done on it, and of course the furniture needs a lot more attention. But I'm concentrating on the tunnels now."

"I wish you could build a tunnel to here, too, one that would make you closer," Itarillë said with a sigh.

"Only The One can change the shape of Arda, unfortunately," Nerwen replied. "And how have you been faring? I understood from your father that your aunt has been giving you a hard time."

Itarillë sighed. "Does she not always? She has irrepressible desire to wander the lands and insists I accompany her – not because she particularly likes my company, I think, more because she feels it would have good influence on me. I do not like it, however, not only for the company or because she likes to go to Fëanáro's sons, but because it upsets father. She never lets that worry her, though, and tells me that nissi are not the servants of neri whenever I try to convince her not to worry him so."

Nerwen laughed at that. "She must have very strange ideas about me, if she thinks I would have not taught you that."

Itarillë grinned. "Actually, astonishing as it is, she even used you in trying to convince me. 'Your beloved Nerwen,' she had said, with a sneer I am sure you can imagine, 'would not sit at home just because her father ordered her to.'"

"She is not wrong – but then I would not have refused an entourage to make him feel better. I would take his entire army with me if I thought it would help." In fact, she mused, I effectively did.

"I know, and I told her so, too, at which point she left alone – well, with Lord Laurefindil." Itarillë frowned. "You do not think less of me because I mostly stay here according to his wishes, do you?"

"Of course not. Your father suffered a great loss, and his worry, at this point in time, is understandable. And I know you do not need wide open fields to be happy – in this you have the advantage over your aunt. You have gardens to delight you here, and your spirit is free, and I know that is enough for you." Nerwen paused. "Have you composed a new song?"

"Several, in fact. That is one of the many reasons I have been looking forward to your visit – I want to hear them sung in your voice."

Nerwen smiled in assent and accompanied her cousin deeper into the house.

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Nerwen's house was almost done, everything in Noldorin lands seemed to be running well, her brothers and cousins were all at home at the moment, and she realized that if she ever wanted to visit Doriath, this was her opportunity.

And she did want to visit, very much so.

After all, it was the biggest realm in Middle-Earth, and its king was her great-uncle, and married to a Maia. She did not particularly like travel for travel's sake, but was very curious in this case, and so she joined Angaráto on his next journey. She truly believed Ingoldo should go and visit soon, but she trusted him the most of all her siblings and did not dare to have both herself and him absent. So she contended with bringing a note from him, with an apology and an explanation, and set out.

The realm of Doriath did not start far from Ingoldo's lands, and so it took them only a short while to feel the protective magic envelop them. Doriath guards appeared only a moment later.

"What brings you to our kingdom?" One of them asked.

"We're here to visit the king, our great-uncle," Nerwen said. "I'm Dirwen, daughter of Aerwen, your king's niece."

He bowed to her upon hearing this, reminding her of Ambë. "Then welcome, my lady, to the woodland realm, and allow us to accompany you to the halls of Thousand Caves."

As Nerwen walked deeper into the forest, a feeling started to spread through her, a feeling that filled her with the ache of longing. Even if she had not known a Maia lived in this kingdom, she could have told because of this feeling, because it was a more modest and weaker impression of what she knew from the Gardens of Lórien. At that moment, she fully admitted to herself what she had been trying to deny: that even though she was content in Middle-Earth and many of her dreams were fulfilled, she missed Aman almost painfully, missed the calm that it provided, the freedom from most cares. Here, in this forest, she felt a shade of it again, and it was a balm to her soul.

She walked like in dreams through the trees, drinking in the peace, forgetting her brother at her side and the guard who walked in front of them. As hours went by, her very soul seemed to settle. She was drinking in the beauty of the fall trees and bright flowers, and was almost startled when they came to a bridge that led to gates cut into a stone wall. It looked very unlike a dwelling she would have imagined for her mother's people, even though she had known from her brother, of course, that the king dwelt in caves.

They crossed the bridge and entered the city, and Nerwen had to admire the artful carvings there, the beauty that was created underground. She had heard it was made by dwarves, and her desire to meet this strange new race grew, seeing that they built such wonders. Perhaps some of them could be convinced to do work on the tunnels from her house?

They were led to the Hall of Elwë, and the beauty of that was such that Nerwen even consider it might, perhaps, bear comparing to some of Tirion's halls, even though it was very different. Passing over the paintings and tapestries, her eyes finally alighted on the king, sat on his throne. In looks he was very much like her grandfather Olwë, his hair like molten silver falling down his shoulders, but where on Olwë's face there was always a pleasant, slightly abstracted smile, on King Elwë's, there was a mild frown. "Welcome, my brother's grandson," he said to Angaráto. "I've hoped you would bring your elder brother with you on your next visit."

Nerwen's brother smiled, that smile that was an echo of Olwë's, and their mother's. "And I, instead, bring my sister," he said. "My lord, allow me to present _Artanis Nerwen_ , the only daughter of _Arafinwë_ _Ingoldo_ and your niece." He wisely allowed her to speak for herself after this short introduction, and Nerwen took the word.

"Please forgive my eldest brother, my lord," she said, seeing the displeased look in the king's eyes, "he wished to come and see you very much, but I begged to be allowed to go and he didn't wish to deny me this." Sometimes, she thought, it was an advantage to be a nis after all.

"Couldn't you have both gone?" The king asked doubtfully.

"He didn't wish to leave our lands with the direction of both of us either," Nerwen explained.

"But surely, if Angrod had stayed instead, he would have been more than enough of a substitute for you." Then again, sometimes it was not. Nerwen could sense her brother cringing by her side.

"I learned many things while I lived in Aman, from the Ladies of the West," she answered diplomatically, thinking of Ambë's obscure warnings, and of how, though they were clearly different, this relative of her mother's was likely to become no more of her favourite than her grandfather Olwë ever had. "Lady Estë taught me healing and I learned wisdom in her gardens. My brothers didn't have that benefit."

Before the king mustered an answer to that, a voice sounded from behind the throne: "You learned with my lady Estë? Then you're doubly welcome here, Nerwen, daughter of Eärwen."

The Queen came forward from the shadows, and Nerwen almost dropped into a deep bow before she realized King Elwë would likely take offence that she did not offer him the same courtesy, and so she only inclined her head very deep. "My lady Melian," she said, "it's a great honour."

The queen of Doriath took one look at the scene before her and said: "Come. I'd like to speak with someone who remembers the gardens well, I'll be happy to recall them. If you'll excuse us, my love?"

"Yes, go, I wish to speak with Angrod. There'll be a feast tonight, so I'll see you there."

The Queen only inclined her head and led Nerwen away.

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Nerwen liked talking to Lady Melian. In her presence, the memory of Aman seemed more real and she could feel some of the calm Lórien had provided return to her. They remembered it together in detail, as well as the wisdom of Lady Estë.

She liked King Elwë less, markedly so. As she had guessed, he was very different from his brother across the Sea. Where grandfather Olwë was all serenity and peace, like her mother was, and it took something truly extraordinary to raise his anger – though when provoked, that anger could be terrible – King Elwë seemed to be nothing but short temper and impatience and pride. It was a mystery to Nerwen how someone so mild-tempered and wise as Lady Melian could have given her heart to such an Elf, Flame of Eru or not.

The evening feats had turned into a bit of a chore for her because of that, and she once again appreciated the advantages being a nis gave her, for here, it meant she was not expected to talk to the King much, and could instead devote her time to the Queen. And there was one other person she was wholly enchanted to meet as well. The royal daughter, Princess Lótien, or Lúthien, as her name went in Sindarin.

Her beauty seemed to be too much for this shore and her power was easy to spot, shimmering just under the surface, and if Nerwen had not known the Valar in the Blessed Lands, she would have been too much in awe to speak to the princess, who was sat next to her. As it was, she expressed her pleasure at the meeting, and Lúthien, after returning the pleasantries, said: "Tell me of Aman, please."

"Hasn't your mother told you all there can be told?" Nerwen replied, surprised.

"She has, but she left it many years ago, before the Elves came there. What is it like now?" The Doriath princess asked. "Do the same flowers bloom in Lórien? I know you talked to her about it."

Nerwen hesitated, considering how much to tell. "It's been hit by darkness, too, though the Lords of the West drew it away again. The Trees your mother remembers are no more."

Lúthien's face took on the expression of immeasurable sadness, one Nerwen knew was mirrored in her own. "We believe," she continued, "that the Sun and the Moon are the last fruits they gave, for in them we see an echo of their light." And sometimes, when Nerwen looked upon the Sun, she thought she could see the brightness of Lady Arien in it as well, but that was probably only her fancy, and her homesickness.

"So I'll never see them now, except in Mother's memory," Lúthien said. "I always dreamed of that. I love our forest, but such trees..."

Queen Melian, who sat on Princess Lúthien's other side, joined their conversation now. "So that's why Valar sent you to help us at this time..." She said. "We've wondered."

Nerwen stayed silent, and the Queen looked at her. "Didn't they?"

"The Valar didn't send me," Nerwen replied slowly. "The decision was my own."

"Are you the only one who went out of their own will?" The Queen asked.

"No," Nerwen was forced to admit.

"But why?" the Queen insisted.

"Every Elf had different reasons, I believe," Nerwen answered evasively.

There was a short silence. "There's something you aren't telling me, isn't there?"

"Yes. I'm sorry, my lady, but there are loyalties I have that make me hold my tongue."

The Queen slowly nodded. "I understand. Can you at least tell me why you came?"

"Yes. I dreamt of a land of my own."

Lúthien laughed at that. "I believe only one from Aman can have such dreams. I've seen my father shoulder the burden of ruling for centuries, and I wouldn't want it for anything."

Nerwen shook her head. "I don't believe it's a matter of being from Aman. _Itarillë_ , my dear friend and the daughter of my cousin, would agree with you. We understand each other well, in all but one thing: that she doesn't particularly want to have responsibility for people. She sees it as a great burden, and is happy that her father is the second son, not the first."

"But surely even if he was the first, she'd not rule, being a woman?" The princess asked, frowning.

Unfortunately, that was true enough. "You're correct in that. But her mother perished during our hard journey here, she has no siblings, and her aunt is very unsuited to the role of a queen. If her father was the king, she'd be his queen, by her role if not by her title. She doesn't wish for that."

"And you?" The Queen asked sharply.

Nerwen laughed. "My father's the younger brother of our king, and I have three brothers, all older than me, and one of them already married and with a son. No, there's no queenship waiting for me."

"But didn't you go to Middle-Earth for that purpose?" Queen Melian insisted.

Yes. Yes, I did. "My council's heard here, and I have much influence over what happens in the realms of Noldor. It's enough to make me content."

"But not quite what you desired, still," the Queen pointed out.

Nerwen laughed again, to cover her ache. "You see me too well, my lady. Yes, it's not quite what I desired, but then I'm not in the Blessed Lands. I can't expect things to be perfect."

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Nerwen was content because she tried hard to be content, and she had to admit the Feast of Reuniting truly helped with that.

It paled in comparison with any celebration they had had in Aman, but for how new in this land they were, it was magnificent, and the guests did their best to be merry and friendly towards each other, something that had not been true during feasts in Tirion for Valian decades. Surely, that was better than all possible finery and sophistication?

Nerwen tried to use the time of the feast to speak with those she saw little in normal circumstances, and so she was looking for Maitimo, but to her frustration, could not find him, even though she had seen him arrive. She spotted Atarinkë and Tyelkormo instead, speaking with Irissë, Lord Laurefindil standing to the side in what would be awkward in most – but then, Nerwen did not think Lord Laurefindil had ever been awkward in his life.

"Good evening," she said, approaching him.

"Good evening, my lady," he returned.

"I find you in rather unexpected company."

He grimaced. "My lord Turukáno gave me the task of guarding his sister this eve, as he often does."

"Does my cousin feel there is danger on this joyous occasion?"

Lord Laurefindil simply cast a telling glance to the sons of Fëanáro.

"Ah," Nerwen said. "But surely she goes to visit them often?"

"Yes – and my lord sends me with her then as well."

"He always sends you?" Nerwen asked, surprised.

He inclined his head. "Almost always, yes."

"That seems rather hard on you," Nerwen mused. She liked Lord Laurefindil, liked him a lot, and had at one point hoped Itarillë would feel love for him. It did not come to pass, she was still waiting for her soul mate and so was Lord Laurefindil, but that did not lessen Nerwen's sympathies. This guard duty would not sit too well with him, for one because he thought his skills could be better employed elsewhere, and for another, because he found Irissë's company as trying as Nerwen did.

"Well, I believe it is because..." he paused. "My father died in the Ice, and my lord believes that ensures I will...remain vigilant."

Nerwen winced. "I am sorry," she said. She had known Lord Laurefindil's father had perished, of course. It had been attempting to save Elenwë, his lady and cousin to his wife, but even if it had not been for that, the House of the Golden Flower was great enough that she would have known its fate. She simply had not expected that Turukáno would use it against one of his close companions in such a way.

"I do not blame him, really," Lord Laurefindil said. "Not much, at least. He fears for his loved ones, and Lady Irissë keeps company that makes him wary."

There was a lull in the conversation next to them just now, and Irissë heard him and said: "The company you mention is standing right next to you, Laurefindil. Mind your tongue."

"That is the famous Vanyar courtesy," Atarinkë sneered.

"Lord Laurefindil did not say anything that was untrue," Nerwen interrupted, "and neither was he expressing his own opinion. I am certain you know what Turukáno thinks of you, cousins, and you do not much care, so there is no need to pretend offence."

Atarinkë gave her an unfriendly look, and Tyelkormo laughed. "Well, opinion on Turukáno is one thing you share with us," he said, "though it might be the only one."

"Oh, I am quite certain there are others we could agree on," Nerwen replied, thinking of Elwë.

"Why are you here?" Irissë asked, irritated.

"Forgive me, cousin, I did not mean to interrupt your friendly conversation. There was a reason I came over, besides compassion with Lord Laurefindil." She turned back to the sons of Fëanáro. "Have you seen your eldest brother? I would like to talk to him."

Atarinkë sneered again. "He sulks somewhere in the shadows," he replied. "Well, no wonder, I-"

"Thank you," Nerwen interrupted him firmly. She was almost certain she had been about to hear something of Atarinkë's opinions on Maitimo giving up his kingship, and she had no desire to spoil the feast by an argument. "I believe I will go looking for him now. A pleasant evening to you, cousins, Lord Laurefindil."

She stepped away from them and, realizing her eyes would not serve her, sent out her mind in search instead. That was a more successful venture, and she tracked the sense of Maitimo she had into the shadows by a grove of trees. "Maitimo?" She called softly. "Are you here?"

After only a moment, he appeared before her, with Macalaurë at his side. "How do you do that?" She asked, amazed.

"It is Macalaurë who does. He can...pass unnoticed, and so can those he includes in the deception."

"Can you teach this ability?" Nerwen asked with interest. "It would be very useful to scouts."

"I have had limited success," Macalaurë admitted. "You have to be suited to it, so...none of my brothers have been able to learn."

Nerwen laughed. "I can imagine! I do not think I would be apt at it either," she added ruefully.

"No, probably not." He paused. "I will leave you in privacy with my brother. If you go a little deeper into the trees, no one should see you even without my little trick." And he departed.

"Why are you hiding here?" Nerwen asked.

"I cannot look the Sindar in the eye," Maitimo replied. "They do not know what we have done, and I..." He shook his head. "My brothers have no shame, but I cannot do this. I came wishing to see you and Findekáno, but..."

"Then let me call Findekáno. We can spend some time here, in privacy," Nerwen suggested.

"He is the Crown Prince. He would be missed. Besides, I did try to speak with him, but he seemed fully engaged in a conversation with a Sindarin lady, so..." Maitimo shook his head. "How can he do it? He was there, with us, in Alqualondë..."

"My cousin can shake most things off," Nerwen replied, "but he is also good at pretending nothing is the matter, and this, I believe, is more likely to be the latter case. You know as well as I do he is not half as careless as most believe him to be."

"I _do_ know, this is why I wonder. The guilt plagues me and Macalaurë day and night." He paused. "He composed a lament...he will never sing it publicly, it is not that kind of song, but if you wish to hear...it would help me now, I think, to sing it."

"I do. Very much so. I have my own guilt, though it is different from yours. Let us go further away from the crowd, and you will teach me, and then we will sing together."

And they did.

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AN: ...Dirwen and Aerwen are Sindarin variations of Nerwen and Eärwen, in case it was unclear, in accordance with what I said in the AN at the beginning. Nerwen uses these names when speaking with the border guards, while when talking to Thingol, she uses the "normal" Quenya versions, because Thingol is old and still remembers Quenya, or proto-Quenya, and should have no trouble understanding. He could call Angrod Angaráto perfectly well, too, but he's just the kind of person who will insist on accommodating your name to their language. That is, in my hc, how all of the sons of Finarfin got their "official" Sindarin names: Thingol insisted on calling them that, so they just accepted it. Nerwen was lucky to be bellow his notice for a time, and then of course she got her Sindarin name from a different source...


	7. Understanding

AN: There's one name for which I have to make an exception from my Quenya/Sindarin rules. Yes, I'm a terrible teenager and I should be able to get over it at my age, but I just can't call Celeborn Teleporno. I can't. Every time I write a sentence with that, I crack up. I'm sorry.

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 **Chapter 7: Understanding**

 _Year 32 of the Sun, Doriath_

Nerwen returned to Doriath regularly after her first visit, every few years, to find peace under its trees and in talks with its queen. She found a friend in Princess Lúthien as well, and with her, she wandered for days in the forest, being shown the most beautiful glades and hidden places. She was reminded of her visits to Lórien with Itarillë a little, only now she was the one being guided. Lúthien was also much more foreign than her cousin ever was – her Maiar heritage could not be denied. Time seemed to matter very little to her, and she was supremely unconcerned with any matters of war and politics. She lived for the forest, for the beauty that could be found in it – and there was much of that, and not only of beauty.

When Lúthien first mentioned ents, Nerwen had thought they were a special kind of animal, one that was not to be found in Aman, and so agreed to go see them mainly for the sake of the princess'. But then, of course, she saw the reality.

"But...who are you?" She asked in complete amazement the group of tree-like beings that stood before her. "Surely not Children of the One..."

One of the ents laughed with a slow, rumbling laugh. "No," he said. "We came from afar to live in Arda after it was made, when you woke, for we loved the vision of it, and the tune of flowers and trees most of all, and we wished to be with them for as long as we could."

Now she was even more astonished. "You are...Maiar?"

"I don't know the word you use."

"Of course. I mean...like Queen Melian?"

"Yes...and no. She was one of those who who came into the world to help make the vision come true. We came later," the ent rumbled.

"So not Maiar, then, but Ainur nevertheless." That was perhaps even more fascinating to Nerwen who had known quite a number of Maiar in her life, after all, but not any other Ainur.

"Again, these are your words. And the one you call Queen, too, is much more powerful than we are, that is another way in which we're different."

"What's your name, my lord?"

Another slow, rumbling laugh. "I'm no lord. But they call me Treebeard. I am the eldest of us."

"I'm Artanis Nerwen, then." If he wished to go without titles, then so would she, though she could hardly prevent herself from thinking about the spirits that were older than Arda as lords and ladies.

"Hmm, yes, I can see how you'd be that."

She wanted to reply something, but Lúthien called to her, already some distance away. "Come on," she said, "you've seen the Ents, now let's go to that beautiful twinflower I've promised you."

Nerwen hesitated. She liked flowers well enough, but their attraction diminished markedly when compared with discovering that Ainur lived in Middle-Earth as guardians of trees. But it would not be so for Lúthien, of course. For one, she already knew the Ents well, but more importantly, nothing would ever compare in interest with the things that grew for her.

"Go with the princess," Treebeard said in his slow voice. "The twinflower will fade soon enough, but we will be here for a long time yet."

And so Nerwen went, reluctantly so, her mind whirling. "Why do you always take me on these excursions?" She asked, half curious, half irritated for being dragged away.

"I don't always take you," Lúthien replied. "I go alone often enough. But only you can be properly appreciative of it."

"But surely many of your people adore the forest as well – perhaps not as much as you do, but still, enough," Nerwen said in some surprise.

"Oh, yes – but they adore me even more, and that's upsetting." Lúthien shook her head. "I've learned to go alone through the forest, or with Mother. Elves irritate me. You're the exception – how come you're the exception?"

"Having come from the West, I'm resistant to your charms to a degree," Nerwen replied with a laugh. "I think you'd find my brothers would be the exception as well."

"Well, the one you came with first hardly spoke to me, so I'm not so sure!"

It was true that Angaráto did not talk to the princess much, but it was only because he spent all of his time in Doriath with its king. He had hoped to find a replacement of sorts for the grandfather he loved so much in Elwë, and while it hurt him to discover how different the brothers were, he kept coming out of a sense of obligation, telling the king stories about his brother, for he had many of those.

Nerwen had tried convincing Itarillë to come with her to Doriath, believing she could get her a permission to visit through Melian, but her cousin would not go, knowing how upset it would make her father. It was a pity, because Nerwen knew Lúthien and Itarillë could grow to love each other very much.

Instead, she returned alone or with one of her brothers, and brought Ingoldo soon after her first visit, after Findekáno solemnly promised her to take care of his cousin's realm. To her surprise and dismay, her eldest brother quite liked King Elwë – more, in fact, than Angaráto did. Ingoldo was Turukáno's best friend, of course, and there were some similarities in character between this cousin of hers and the Sindarin king, so she had expected her brother to be less hard on their great-uncle than she was, but Elwë's mistakes seemed too obvious to Nerwen to understand how Ingoldo could overlook them so easily. She tried to ignore the little voice that told her it was because Ingoldo, not being a nis, would be less personally concerned with at least some of Elwë's...peculiarities.

In any case, Ingoldo's sympathies meant the northern lands were left without either of them more often than she would like, but the times were relatively calm and everything was in good order every time they returned from their journey, so she did not find enough reason to deny herself these occasional respites from the burdens of Middle-Earth. She came for the peace, and she came for Lady Melian and Lúthien, and not least of all, she came for the Ents, even though she found they were rather unwilling to discuss anything except the forest and what grew in it, and certainly not the time of the Music.

It was on her fifth visit there that she spoke properly to Celeborn for the first time.

She had met him before, naturally, he sat at the same table she did during feasts in Thousand Caves, but she had never spoken to him beside pleasantries until that time.

She was with Lady Melian in her chambers, talking about the spells the Queen used to protect her realm, when he approached them. "My queen," he said, and bowed, "the King requires your presence."

"I'm in the middle of explaining something rather intricate to his great-niece just now," Lady Melian replied. "But thank you, I'll send one of my girls to tell him I'll be with him as soon as I'm done."

Celeborn shifted his feet, and looked away for a moment.

"What is it?" The Queen asked.

"I'm sorry, my lady, but...he said immediately."

Lady Melian sighed a little and rose. "My apologies," she said, to Nerwen. "We'll finish this later."

The younger lady frowned, looking after the departing queen. "This can't be right," she muttered, forgetting, for the moment, that she was not alone.

"I understand your misgivings," Celeborn replied.

She turned her surprised eyes to him, and he said: "I apologize, your words weren't meant for me."

They had not been, but Nerwen was interested in the opinion of someone who knew the royal couple better than she did. "I've noticed what seems like lack of respect on King Elu's part before," she said, "but I've only been here a few times. Tell me, is this...usual?"

"I'm sorry to say it is."

"And what does the court think about it?"

"Well...he's their king, first and foremost. Queen Melian is...they love her, of course, but she is very foreign to them, and with a few rare exceptions, they have a much more distant relationship to her."

Nerwen nodded. "And she to them," she added. She had noticed that already. Queen Melian had her favourites, and she help Elwë where she could out of her love for him, but she was not precisely invested in the realm.

Celeborn looked relieved that it did not have to be him who said so. "Yes," he nodded. "And they can sense it, too. So they aren't as concerned for her as they'd perhaps be otherwise, and they forgive their king things they'd perhaps not forgive other. And of course, he does love her very much, and they see that."

"But what is love without respect?" Nerwen asked, thinking of her father and eldest brother and their approach to her, and even of Angaráto and Eldalótë, a little. While she had always felt a sort of kinship with her sister-in-law, the nature of her relationship to her middle brother was such that it made Nerwen feel a little reserved, and prevented a closer bond from forming.

"I don't know," Celeborn said simply. "I can't imagine it myself, yet the King and Queen seem to be far from the only couple who choose that road for themselves."

Nerwen gave him a thoughtful look. "Let's walk," she said abruptly, and he merely nodded.

They left the Queen's chambers and set out through the exquisitely carved corridors of Thousand Caves. "I, too," Nerwen said after a moment of silence, "have observed couples where respect seemed to be missing on one side or the other. The biggest mystery, to me, is that they often appear happy."

"That's the case of our king and queen as well," Celeborn pointed out. "I believe my grandmother had tried, once, to ask the Queen about it – she is one of the few at court who share your misgivings."

"What did Lady Melian say?" Newen asked curiously.

"To quote my grandmother, 'it was a sharp reminder how very different the Queen is from us'. From what I understand, she doesn't almost notice the...well, the act at all. She sees straight to the king¨s heart, and that's what she reacts to. Everything else is just incidental for her."

Nerwen wanted to protest, but then she paused. "Well, I suppose that for her, it truly would be like that." She thought about it for a moment. "But still...they are the royal couple. I know her interest in the realm is limited, but shouldn't she worry she's setting an example?"

"You can ask her about it, my lady, when you next see her," Celeborn answered diplomatically.

"I expect I'd fare about as well as your lady grandmother did. I think I'd like to meet her properly, though. She sounds most interesting."

"I'm certain you'd like her, yes."

That caught Nerwen's attention. "That's a confident pronouncement, given this is the first time we speak properly."

Celeborn looked away, and was silent for a moment before saying: "I've been...watching you, and...listening to your conversations sometimes."

 _Oh._ Nerwen decided to leave the uncomfortable implications of that statement aside for the moment – she was enjoying the conversation too much to wish to deal with them. "Well, I've heard about your lady grandmother a little even before today," she said instead, "and while I can't be as confident as you, it certainly seems she doesn't take orders from her husband."

"No," he admitted, "neither does my grandfather expect it. Or my father from my mother, though I admit they aren't kings, nor do they rule their own lands."

Nerwen thought back to Valinor. "My parents never seemed to have any disagreements, as both were eager to yield to the other. My cousin's wife often yielded to him, I believe, but more because of their difference in character than for her being a woman. My aunt certainly never showed any signs of submission to her husband, our king, not even after most people choose him as their ruler. Nor did my grandfather Finwë's first wife, from what I know. My own grandmother was, again, not fiery enough to resist her husband overmuch."

Celeborn looked scandalized. "Your grandfather married for a second time?"

"You may well be shocked," Nerwen said bitterly. "After the birth of his first son, his first wife faded, giving most of her fire to my uncle, and her spirit departed to the Halls of Mandos, from where she refused to return. My grandfather was devastated and lost joy in life, something unheard of in the Blessed Lands. After much deliberation, Lords of the West have granted him the exception, allowing him to marry again. I often wonder if they regretted it. My eldest uncle didn't bear it well."

"I can imagine," Celeborn said, still shocked. "If nothing else, any hope of his mother returning to him was lost that way."

"Yes," Nerwen assented, though in truth she saw the full impossibility of Fëanáro's situation only now, though the eyes of someone who heard the story for the first time. "If the Valar hadn't granted him the exception, I wouldn't have been born, yet still... But I can't but believe it was the will the One."

"As is everything that passes," he noted as their steps led them to the less frequented parts of Thousand Caves. "Do you believe that, after a first wife who didn't submit to him, your grandfather intentionally choose one that would?"

Nerwen considered this suggestion. "No." She had many objections to her grandfather, but she would not go that far. "I know it was true Flame of Eru on her part, and in Aman, that couldn't really be non-reciprocated. That was part of the exception he was granted, I think….to feel the Flame again."

"Then it wasn't simply an exception given by the Valar," he pointed out.

"You're right, it couldn't have been. Oh, I don't know! It's not like they told us the details. But anyway, after his first wife faded, my grandfather needed one full of light, and my grandmother certainly is that, in spite of everything. Or she was, before his death."

"Your old king died on the journey here?" Celeborn's astonishment clearly grew.

Nerwen sighed. "No. He died before it started, and was the reason for its beginning. Or one of them."

"He died in Aman?" Celeborn stared. "The Immortal Lands are less so than we were led to believe."

"He was the first to die there," Nerwen explained. "I don't believe there are any tragedies of this sort happening in Aman any more."

"And I expect he was reborn soon enough," Celeborn mused.

Nerwen shook her head. "No, he wasn't, actually. We believe he chose to stay in Mandos with his first wife."

Celeborn looked at her. "I can see, now, why the matter of relationships in a marriage is an important topic for you. You've seen so many different forms of it...and so many of them...well...objectionable..."

"Yes," Nerwen muttered, and added, still upset: "I'm not sure I much like any of the ones I've seen, in fact."

"Not even your king's? There seemed nothing wrong with it even from your point of view, from what you've said," he pointed out.

Nerwen heaved another sigh. This was a painful subject, but she wanted to tell Celeborn about it. She was not sure why – perhaps to get an outsider's perspective? An opinion of someone who did not know any of those it concerned personally? Whatever the reason, she started to talk. "My Aunt stayed behind when we left for Middle-Earth. She had...some good reasons to do so, but she also knew she would not see her husband again for centuries at least, in all likelihood. I don't understand either of them. How could she not follow him, and how could he go without her...again, he had some very good reasons to," and I did my best to convince him, she thought to herself bitterly, "but there were others who could've been given his responsibility. Their separation...I don't understand it, and it worries me. Of course, they've been arguing even before, for decades, counted in years of the Sun, but still, to go so far..." She shook her head. "And then, of course, there's my brother, who always yields to his wife. I love Edhellos dearly and I know Angrod's happy, but I know I'd not want that either."

There was a short silence that felt distinctly contemplative on Celeborn's side, then he returned to their previous topic: "You said that in many cases in your family, the man's will prevailed because of the differences in character. Is this not similar to our king and queen? I mean, her reasons are a little different, but still. And yet you seem to be less bothered by it when it comes to your relations."

"Because your queen's..." Nerwen frowned. "Well, there's only one way to say it and be truthful: she's above him, and he should be aware."

"But you've just said that a relationship in which the husband always yields to the wife doesn't appeal to you either. Wouldn't this be going in that direction?"

Nerwen shook her head. "I was talking about relationships where the two are, essentially, equal. You haven't been to Aman, so it's more difficult to explain, but being as powerful a Maia as she is...you only see a very small shred of her true majesty. Even back there, we only saw a little of the truly powerful ones, but it still gives me the knowledge to understand how great your queen truly is, as much as she wears the body of an Elf."

"Isn't there some excuse for our king, then? He hasn't lived in Aman either," Celeborn pointed out.

"But he knows. Lady Melian would never have married him without showing him the truth, however briefly." Perhaps, Nerwen thought, that is why he does it. He finds the idea disconcerting.

"How do you know?"

"The intimacy we keep is beyond mere words. I understand her mind, as much as I can understand a mind such as this, and she understands mine." Except certain shadowed parts of it, anyway. It cost Nerwen a lot of effort, too. Her mind was open to both the Queen and Lúthien, and keeping the truth of their flight from Aman hidden in spite of that meant constant vigilance that was taking a lot from the relaxing atmosphere of Doriath. Yet what else could she do? This was the rare moment when she blessed the constraints the body put on thought sharing. If she only wore it like a dress, like Lady Melian did, it would have been almost impossible to prevent the Queen from seeing all of her mind at once. As it was, she could hide in the crevices her constricted mind had, distract and lead away from truths she did not wish to become known, all the while regretting so bitterly it was necessary in the first place.

There was a long silence between her and Celeborn now, at the same time comfortable and charged with something new and strange. They were wandering deep in the halls, close to where Sirion flowed, and Nerwen felt no desire to speak. She knew, however, without seeing his mind, that Celeborn was getting ready to.

Finally, he did. "Would you always see yourself in this way, too?" He asked. "Above the Elves of Middle-Earth, because you came from Aman?"

And Nerwen was forced to revisit the thought she had pushed aside before, as she suddenly began to suspect what this unknown tension between them was, even though she had never known it before. "It's not something I can deny," she said at length, carefully, "the wisdom I learned from the Lords of the West, and the light I saw. That doesn't make the Sindar automatically unworthy, however. I found many of those who gazed on the Trees so, even during Noontide of Valinor, after all."

"That appears to give us even less of a chance, then," he replied, trying to keep his tone light.

Nerwen gave her companion a piercing look. "Let us walk out to the woods," she said, and he nodded mutely.

He led her to a small underground haven, and through that, they exited Thousand Caves and walked along the river for a long while, until they found a place where they could climb up to the forest proper. The whole way, they were silent, and Nerwen was trying to arrange her thoughts.

Once under the trees, in the wide, vast space of the forest, she opted for directness and asked him: "Do you love me, Celeborn, son of Galadhon?"

He looked away from her. "I...don't know. I'm not certain. I've tried to find out today, as we talked, butt still...I do know that I admire and respect you greatly, and that I'd resent any man who married you if he was to try and make you less than you are."

"Including yourself?" She asked pointedly.

He did not hesitate. "With all my heart," he said, and in that moment opened his mind to her.

She was a little overwhelmed at first, but his was a good answer, and she took him up on the invitation, skimming over the surface of his thoughts and memories. They were...attractive. She liked him, certainly, she could say so much. As for anything else... "Then allow yourself the time to grow more sure," she told him with a smile, and opened her mind in turn, trying to suppress the feeling of being dishonest, for her openness, of course, was not complete. As with Lady Melian and Lúthien, there were shadowed parts of her mind that she kept from him. She could not stay closed to him without him interpreting it as a rejection, and yet she could not truly open herself to him either.

"Dare I ask if...?" He said at length, after a long time resting in her mind.

Nerwen laughed a little at this. "You're not certain yourself, and you want me to give you an answer? I don't have it, and am unlikely to for some time," she admitted plainly. "Let's walk back now. Company and distraction are, I believe, what we need."

He followed her advice, but in spite of knowing its wisdom, she could not obey it herself. The matter on her mind was such: she knew how marriages worked, and you were supposed to recognize the other half of your life the moment you met them, or at least spoke to them properly; normally, there was no confusion. If there was, it was because the heart was troubled by misgivings that clouded the inner sight. Nerwen's sight was usually very good, but here, it was of no use.

She knew part of the reason, of course. She was keeping a secret. As much as she disliked it, if she ever wanted him to know his mind, that had to be done next she saw him: he needed to know everything, and only then he could tell whether what he felt was the true Flame.

However, that only answered the question of why he was unsure. Why was she?

She remembered Elenwë being unsure for a long time, about Turukáno. There, it had been because she was wary of a marriage with a Noldo and of the character differences, instead of allowing her soul to speak. Was she, similarly, afraid of being married to a Sinda?

She examined her mind and found that she was not. After all, she already knew she found no one adequate among the Noldor. Nor did she know of any significant character differences yet. But this line of thought did lead her tot he right path, the discovery of the motive for her confusion: if she married Celeborn, she would have to live in Doriath under its foolish king, with no share in the government, and give up everything she came to Middle-Earth for.

Was this, she wondered, a test from Eru?

And if it was, did she want to pass it?

It was a terrible and blasphemous thought, and yet she already failed one test, on leaving Aman, because she had not wanted to succeed, had not been willing to sacrifice what it took to stay faithful.

Was this another chance at some form of redemption? Would she take it?

She was restless, and decided she would have to talk to Celeborn in some detail on the morrow.

That evening, Lady Ernil, his grandmother, sought her out.

She should have expected something like this, of course. Celeborn's mind would be open to his relations, and Lady Ernil was a formidable enough Elf, and not the sort to hesitate.

Neither did she rush the conversation, however, speaking at length about the beauty of spring in Doriath first. But finally, she said: "You've had quite some time to admire it today, with my grandson, I believe."

"Yes," Nerwen replied simply. She did not feel obliged to share anything.

Lady Ernil gave her a sharp look. "An unusual choice of company. Normally, you're seen with our princess in the forest."

"I was interested in talking to your grandson," Nerwen admitted.

"And were you interested in hearing what he had to say?"

Nerwen looked her fully in the eyes now. "Forgive me, but that's between Celeborn and me. If he wishes to tell you, it's his business, but I don't see why I should."

To her surprise, Lady Ernil chuckled a little. "No reason, I suppose. But I've seen him struggle with certain hopes and fears ever since you first came to Thousand Caves, and I'd be glad if his heart could finally rest."

"If you know his heart," Nerwen replied against her better judgement, "you know he's unsure still, so how can it?"

"And is it not because of you that he's unsure?" Lady Ernil asked.

This conversation was growing decidedly uncomfortable. "Allow me to repeat that I see this as a private matter," Nerwen said, a shade more coldly.

"That's your right, of course. I'd simply like to remind you that unless you open yourself to him, he'll never rest." Lady Ernil left, and Nerwen stared at her back, frowning. _Yes, thank you_ , she thought, _I am perfectly well aware of that. It is precisely that thing that is likely to give me nightmares tonight._

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She sought Celeborn out after breakfast, and he smiled upon seeing her and accompanied her out to the forest again. "You give me much hope," he said.

"This is both less and more than you believe. I needed to speak to you for a particular reason, not just out of my desire for your company, but the reason may well fill you with joy." She paused. "If I married you, would you insist we lived in Doriath?"

He seemed taken aback. "It's my home," he said, "why do you ask?"

"I came to Middle-Earth to have a realm of my own," she answered plainly. "I don't, but my council is heard among the Noldor, and I play an important part. Here, as you know, I would play no part at all."

"Why don't you have your own realm?" Trust him to ask the most uncomfortable question. "Middle-Earth is wide enough."

"I couldn't have one in Beleriand, not without getting in conflict with your king," or mine, she added silently. "The lands east of it are covered by the Shadow. And I do have some responsibility for my brothers, and even for the lands of the Noldor as a whole, because I took part in convincing some of them to leave. I hesitate even when I go here, I'd never cross the mountains and so make it almost impossible for them to seek my advice."

He nodded, and returned in his mind to her original question. "I wouldn't want to quit Doriath completely," he said, "it's always been my home. But that's not saying we'd have to always stay here, or that you would. I'd never deny you freedom of travel, and I'd be willing to accompany you to the realms of your relations, if you were to take me. You needn't give up the word you have in their councils."

She smiled, a little ironically. "I never would have. But thank you for your answer."

They walked in silence and their steps turned back as Nerwen contemplated what she now knew. She was aware she would need much longer to fully absorb it and realize what it meant for her. She bid Celeborn goodbye once inside, and headed to the Queen's chambers to seek her soothing company.

Of course, a price for this company was that she had to brave Lady Melian's insight. One look at Nerwen was enough for her to have a good sense of what was happening, and she asked: "Which Sindarin lord was splendid enough to charm a lady came from Valinor?"

Nerwen smiled mischievously. "King Elu was," she replied.

The Queen laughed in response. "True, but I certainly hope he's not the reason for your current preoccupation. I'm used to different emotions from you when you're thinking of my husband."

Nerwen cast her eyes down. "My lady..."

Lady Melian shook her head. "Don't apologize, we both know you aren't sorry. And I'm not angry. I think you're closer to understanding why I act the way I act towards him, in truth."

"I might be," Nerwen admitted. "I'm not certain yet."

"Yes, your mind does seem clouded by confusion. Come, then, let us remember Lórien together. The memory of Lady Estë must be enough to calm anyone."

"Sometimes," Nerwen replied, "I feel I'd give anything to see her again."

"You will, one day," Melian answered, and Nerwen avoided her eyes. The Queen sensed her upset, but chose to associate it with what she already knew troubled her guest.

"Cast your mind to the rose fields," she said, and thinking of Itarillë, Nerwen did.

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AN: Edhellos – the Sindarin version of Eldalótë.

Also, about the Flame...it's my headcanon for explaining all the immortal elven ladies cheerfully giving up their relationship with _everyone they have ever known, for tens of thousand of years,_ because of some guy they've met, like, twice. I mean, either they're dumb, or there's some kind of metaphysical soul mate stuff going on. And since I strongly dislike the implications of Lúthien and Arwen both being dumb and Aegnor as a male being the only one capable of thinking stuff through, I opted for the other explanation. (Also, the elves are supposed to happily stay together for said tens of thousands of years. Some metaphysical help sure comes handy in that...)


	8. Blame

**Chapter 8: Blame**

 _Year 34 of the Sun, Doriath_

Nerwen returned to Thousand Caves two years after her talk with Celeborn, and by then, she knew the answer.

She understood now what they meant when they said she would know when she met the Elf she would marry. Once she cleared the doubts and fears from her mind – no easy task, because she did not take anyone's council in this – she saw the flame of love burn brightly, and she felt the pull to be very strong. It could not be confused with anything else.

In spite of that, she stayed in the northern realms, taking part in their administration, and only went to visit Doriath again after the usual amount of time had passed. Upon laying eyes on Celeborn, she immediately realized he assumed that meant she had found her answer, and it was not in the positive. She sought to remedy that impression as soon as she could, and when she saw him rise from the table at the feast as soon as the king and queen did, she followed him outside the hall. "Lord Celeborn," she called.

"Yes, my lady?" He returned in a guarded tone.

"I know it's late, but would you consider a walk in the forest with me?"

He assented, but she could see he was preparing to hear explicit rejection. "I'm sorry I stayed away so long," she said as soon as they crossed the bridge to the trees. "The lands I feel responsible for required me, and my cousin's daughter always feels bereft without my company. I knew my mind soon enough, in several months, perhaps, and so I'd have been able to give you an answer much earlier. Though I cannot help feeling I should receive a definite proposal first," she pointed out. She knew he couldn't give her one, of course, but it was enough to help her avoid confessing her feelings as he replied: "I know, but I'm still uncertain. I had thought at one point that it meant it was only an illusion, but my admiration continues undiminished, and that confuses me."

She nodded. "There's something you need to know from me before you can understand your own heart," she explained, "but first I need your word that you'll not tell anyone of what I'm about to say, not even your king and queen. It's a serious matter, and I'd be laying loyalty aside if I told them of it. But I need to tell you."

Celeborn clearly hesitated. "If it's a matter of importance..."

"It is, and your king would want to know about it." She paused. "The only thing I can tell you to put your mind at ease is that it concerns only the past in that there is no immediate action required of your kingdom. It'll not bring any sort of practical problems, that he didn't know, but it's still an important matter."

There was a long silence as they continued walking. "I don't like this," he said at length, "but it seems I have little choice. Very well, I promise I'll not breathe a word of it to anyone."

"I don't like it either, I assure you." She took a deep breath and stopped their walk, leaning on a tree and looking into distance as she started to speak. "The Blessed Lands have not been so blessed for many Valinorean years before our departure. Morgoth dwelt there, and though he wasn't openly evil like he is now, he sowed discord and hatred among us. Mainly, he turned my two uncles against each other, and all of us against the Valar. He was driven out in time, but the fruit of his work remained. Feanor my half-uncle drew his sword against his half-brother, at one point. He was banished from our city for this, and king Finwë went with him."

She closed her eyes for a moment, against the assault of tragic memories of what came next. When she opened them again, Celeborn was watching her calmly from few feet away, and she continued. "Years later, Feanor was invited to a feast to make peace with my uncle, and he did so, in his way, but king Finwë stayed away and that was when the Enemy came back. He destroyed the Trees, took the Silmarils – great jewels that Feanor had fashioned and that had the light of the Trees inside of them – and killed our king."

Here, Nerwen paused and carefully sent her mind to probe their surrounding to make sure they were truly alone before continuing. Celeborn's face was full of sorrow now, but he was still silent, and she went on with the story: "Feanor was mad with rage and grief, but still as powerful as always, and he wanted to follow Morgoth to Middle-Earth and take revenge. His will was strong and he put most of our people under a kind of spell. I wasn't one of those affected, however. I've simply longed for Middle-Earth for years, and I knew that after he left, none of us would be allowed to. I helped to convince my cousin _Findekáno_ and my uncle to leave – _Findekáno_ because he is like me, and my uncle because I feared for our people, left solely in Feanor's care. My brothers decided to follow too, as well as _Turukáno_ , _Findekáno's_ brother, and most of the Noldor choose _Ñolofinwë_ as their king, because he was the one living with them for the last Valinorean decade, and he was sane."

Nerwen fell silent. What she said until now was, perhaps, not something to be particularly proud of, but not a shameful secret either. She needed all of her strength to continue, and she attempted to draw it from the calming atmosphere of the forest around her.

When she did not speak for a long moment, Celeborn said: "And then? This does not appear like something so very crucial for my understanding of my heart, though I am of course sorry for the loss of your king."

That made Nerwen feel even worse, but she strengthened her resolve and continued, though more quietly: "We went to the sea, and there...the darkest part of our history took place. My brothers and I were marching in the back with our father when we heard the sounds of battle. We ran to the seaside, and we saw the Noldor and the Teleri in a fight." She swallowed and made herself go on, still not looking at Celeborn. "I...do not know exactly what happened there to this day, but I can imagine, I believe. Feanor wanted the ships, and the Teleri refused to give them. So Feanor opted to take them by force." Here, she had to stop again, reliving the horror of that hour, the visions that still plagued her and always would.

"The Noldor...killed Elves?" Celeborn asked, as if to make sure he had heard correctly, horrified incredulousness in his voice.

Nerwen nodded mutely. "Mostly, it was Feanor's host who took part in the kinslaying," she said at length, "but I regret to say that some of my uncle's people did too, those who arrived at the spot and did not know what happened, and did not have clear enough mind to think about it, and so jumped in to defend their closer kin." And again, the nightmare of Findekáno covered in blood rose before her eyes and she chased it away forcefully – but not quickly enough.

"Who...who was that?" Celeborn asked shakily, seeing her mind.

"My cousin," Nerwen whispered. "My beloved cousin, my best friend, the one who is so much like me, our prince...I came to the coast and this was what I saw." A low wail escaped her and Celeborn stretched his arm as if to take hold of her hand, but then he let it fall back.

Nerwen steeled herself and continued, as calmly as she could: "Feanor won and took the ships, and we marched on like in a daze, and then Lord Námo appeared, pronouncing the judgement of the Valar over us. We were banned from returning to Aman and cursed to live in the shade of death, Feanor and his sons because of the killing, and the rest of us if we followed him. It felt very unjust to me then, and my pride did not allow me to stay, but I begged my parents and brothers to do so. My parents listened, my brothers did not."

Nerwen slowly exhaled. The biggest secret, the biggest burden, was out now, and she felt relief, but she still needed to finish the story, and so she made herself tell of the last horror: "Shortly afterwards, Feanor and his people on the ships abandoned us and sailed, burning the ships on the beach after they arrived in Middle-Earth, the great white ships of the Teleri. And so the rest of us faced the Grinding Ice to get here. The horror of it...it can't be described." She pressed her memories back once more. "I've seen so many of my kin die in those years – first my mother's kin in Alqualondë, then my father's kin on the Ice. And, for urging my uncle and cousin to go, I bear some guilt for the second. The Valar had warned us that the road would be hard, but I never imagined...I couldn't imagine, not with all of my life's experience being in Aman, but I should have trusted them, or my elders, who told me that Middle-Earth was a brutal place."

She fell silent for a long moment, trying to calm herself and make herself finally face Celeborn, and the judgement she was bound to found in his eyes. She wrapped up the tale as succinctly as she could: "Feanor, as I expect you know, died soon after his arrival here, and _Maitimo_ , his eldest son, gave up his kingship to my uncle. The breach between the two hosts was officially healed, but much distrust still remains and _Maitimo_ and _Macalaurë_ are the only ones of the brothers who can be talked to sensibly, and the only ones who don't resent my uncle being king. We try to forgive that they left us to the Ice, since it was chiefly their father's doing, but there is no meeting possible with the survivors of Alqualondë to beg for _their_ forgiveness, for those of my relations who took part."

Celeborn's eyes were immeasurably sad as they looked at her, but he did not say anything. Nerwen could not stand that for long. "Why do you keep silent?" She asked.

"What is there to say?" He returned. "Our brothers over the Sea died in the Immortal Lands, by the hands of their kin. There are no words for such tragedy, but I begin to think those who haven't sailed to Aman those centuries ago had a reason for their mistrust. Despite everything, we haven't been hit by something so dreadful."

Nerwen frowned. "Don't blame the Valar. The evil came from Feanor, or from Morgoth, originally. It wasn't their fault."

Celeborn raised his eyebrows. "Wasn't it? Weren't they the rulers of those lands, and don't they know the fates of the world? Couldn't they have saved those to whom they promised safety?"

"They wouldn't interfere with Feanor's freedom, whatever decision he made," Nerwen tried to explain, a little tiredly.

Celeborn was not convinced. "That shouldn't prevent them from shielding the Teleri. Or are you saying they were not powerful enough to erect a protection around Alqualondë?"

Nerwen shook her head. "You scare me. You speak like Feanor himself, raging against the Lords of the West."

"Do you think it blasphemy?" Celeborn asked archly. "Yet they aren't the rulers of this world, Eru Illúvatar is."

Nerwen straightened, abandoning the tree she had been leaning on. "And why do you not rage against him, when he could have prevented the killings as well?" She challenged.

"He doesn't interfere in this world directly, he gave that duty over to the Valar," he pointed out.

"And they gave it over to us, to rule ourselves as we see fit." Nerwen continued this line of argumentation.

Celeborn, however, disagreed. "It's not the same. Teleri went to Aman at the invitation of the Valar, they were their guests, and so their responsibility. Our brothers accepted they would have less freedom over the Sea, but more safety, happiness and beauty. They found death instead."

Nerwen frowned. "You know they will likely come to life again soon enough."

"Does that make Feanor's action less of a crime?"

"No," she admitted. The wound did not hurt less only because the Valar could heal it afterwards, after all.

"Then it isn't relevant," he replied simply.

Nerwen was out of her depth, and she looked away from his eyes, which were suddenly disquieting. "Is this customary here, this lack of regard for the Valar?" She asked.

Celeborn thought about her question. "In some ways, yes, I suppose. We don't entirely understand why the offer was never made of ferrying the rest of us to Aman, after our king was discovered again. Many of us mightn't have gone, but some would have, and we didn't deserve to lose the chance just for being faithful to our king. And so we're more reserved."

"What does your queen say to this?" Nerwen asked curiously, and started walking again, in the direction of Thousand Caves.

He smiled, following her. "You need to realize she is a Maia, as you would say, and so while she respects them, she does not quite feel the awe the Elves do. I heard her once, in a talk much like this, tell our king that the Valar made mistakes too, just like everyone else – expect the One."

Nerwen was silent for a moment. "I didn't expect you to react in this way. I 'd have thought Feanor would be the first you'd turn your wrath against."

Celeborn snorted bitterly. "Don't mistake me, if he was here, I'd demand he faced justice, and I'd have no mercy for him. But he's gone, and his sons and others who took part while fully knowing what they were doing are absent too. I'm not going to be angry with you, especially not when I can sense your pain." He paused. "But I do need some time to clear my mind, more than you had, likely."

Nerwen nodded. "That is natural enough. You learned much today."

"And the promise of not telling our king will be a great burden," he continued, "but I understand why you extracted it, and I'll honour it, of course. Though it might mean not being in Thousand Caves much, since my queen's mind is keen in reading others."

"She'll be able to tell something troubles you, yes, but not what it is, not unless you intentionally open your mind to her," Nerwen pointed out, a little confused.

"Ah, but I normally do that, you see? Guarding my mind would mean it'd be more difficult to come to understand my heart. No, it's the forest for me for the time being. If you don't mind returning to Thousand Caves alone, my lady..."

"Not at all. I wish you peace," Nerwen said and departed.

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Returning to Hithlum, Nerwen was faced with the choice of whom to tell.

She did not like keeping secrets from her brothers and cousins, but her pride did not welcome the idea of admitting her feelings before she knew Celeborn's answer either. She was admired by many, but that he would feel true love for her was not inevitable, and it scared her, the circumstances being so out of her control.

Unrequited love in the strong sense of the word was not a thing present in Aman, where it could be only confusion and uncertainty what entered between a nis and a nér. And even that happened very rarely. Here, however, it seemed it existed. She heard of some cases of Elves falling in love with those who were already married, as horrifying as it was. Of course she had no way of knowing if it was the real flame that Eru put in those truly meant to be together, but she worried it could be. The idea of rejection scared her.

Now that she felt what it was like, she wondered about the purpose of this flame, too. She understood what Lady Melian had meant, to a degree. If this was what she felt towards Elwë – and it seemed so, though she was not an Elf, so perhaps it was different somehow – she saw how the Queen would forgive a lot. Boundless understanding seemed to come with the Flame, among other things. But were they truly compatible, the lord and lady of Doriath? They were very different. She had always assumed compatible meant similar, and expected that if she married at all, it would be to someone whose fire was as bright as her own. Yet Celeborn was all Teleri, though he was proud and hard-headed in his own way too. In Melian's and Elwë's case, they balanced each other out in some ways. Was that what compatibility meant? The examples of her grandparents, Turukáno, Ingoldo and her uncle seemed to confirm it, and even her parents in a way. She had always assumed that they loved each other despite their differences, and because of their similarities, but perhaps it was the other way round? Or perhaps both were equally important?

She shook her head and laughed at herself. She never even managed to understand Lord Olórin, and here she was trying to deduct how Eru's mind worked?

Instead, she returned to contemplating the choice of telling and not telling. She could not, she decided, keep it from Findekáno, and in fact, he should be the first to hear. Consequently, she headed to his house as soon as she made sure everything was well in hers, and took care of the most serious injuries there.

"Nerwen!" he cried as soon as he saw her, in the middle of a talk with one of his companions. "Back already? You did not stay long this time, did you? Let me finish here with Astaldo and I will be with you in a minute."

Nerwen politely waited to the side while Findekáno arranged some matter of guard duty along the southern border. When Lord Astaldo departed, she raised her eyebrows at her cousin. "You and your brother employ your companions in the strangest ways. He sets them on Irissë, you make them arrange border guard. I am quite certain Uncle intended them to be your personal guard, if something."

"At the time when they were assigned to us, there had been no time for a personal guard," Findekáno retorted. "And you are one to speak, since you left your handmaidens in Aman."

Nerwen grimaced. "It is enough that I convinced you to come, there was no need to have the poor girls' suffering on my conscience as well. Besides, you knew them. They would hardly have survived the Ice." Her parents' choice had been almost humorous in this respect. She supposed they had hoped the ladies would mellow her. Well…

"This might actually be the only thing you and my sister would agree on," Findekáno said, amused, as Irissë's ladies had stayed behind as well.

"Well, she never wanted any handmaidens in the first place."

"Neither did you," Findekáno pointed out, mostly truthfully. She did not object to the idea as such, only to what it meant in practice. "But I doubt you came here to criticize how I manage my household and realm," he continued, "even though, if you are interested, I give these tasks to my companions because I trust them the most."

"You are right, this is not why I came." She smiled and looked at him intently, and he looked back for a moment before…

"You are in love!" He exclaimed.

"Indeed I am."

"But that calls for a celebration!"

"Do not get ahead of yourself," Nerwen muttered. "I do not know if it is requited yet."

"Oh." That calmed some of Findekáno's ardour, but he took her arm nevertheless, and leading her deeper into the house, asked: "So who is this incredible specimen who managed to impress you of all people?"

Nerwen smiled a little. "His name is Celeborn, and he is Elwë's great-nephew – so, actually, my second cousin."

"Hmm." He pretended to consider it. "Rather closely related, is it not?"

"Oh, leave it be. Your brother did not marry much farther from home, and besides, it is not like I chose who I feel the Flame for."

Findekáno pressed her arm. "I am only teasing, beloved, do not worry. So what is so amazing about this Celeborn that he outshines all the Noldor?"

"Well, for one, he is not such an ass as you are," Nerwen replied with a laugh. "But really, I do not know him that well yet… but he is smart and argumentative and respects me without bending to my will...and his eyes are the most beautiful shade of green."

"As beautiful as yours?" Findekáno asked teasingly.

"Much more so." She considered how to describe it. "Do you know how they say about my hair that it is gold, but with she silver of Telperion still somehow contained in them? It is like this with Celeborn's eyes. They are green, but much more bright and shining than normal green...oh, I cannot describe it. Look into my mind!"

He did. "He is good-looking, I have to grant you that. But what did you mean you do not known if he loves you in turn? Surely no one could resist you?"

"You know I could hardly be happy in a marriage that had love on my side and simple infatuation on his. But no, there is...some hope. He is considering the situation now," Nerwen admitted. "He asked me to give him time."

"And you do not need time to consider?" Findekáno asked.

"I already have." She hesitated, then confessed: "For the past two years."

"And you kept it from me?" He hit her lightly in the arm. "Shame on you!"

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The talk with her uncle, which followed, was somewhat more serious and motivated more by duty than by affection - as everything relating to him was, these days. But she was, after all, his advisor, and her possible marriage and departure would affect him directly.

"I am happy you found someone, beloved," Ñolofinwë said. "I know you have been lonely."

"Yes. I am glad also – assuming this will turn out well," she replied in a reserved tone.

"You told him about Alqualondë?" He asked quietly.

"Yes. I could...hardly keep such a thing secret." No need to go into details.

"No, you could not, not if you want to have any chance of happiness in marriage," he said, and there was clear bitterness in his voice.

"Uncle..." Nerwen started, feeling her heart touched in spite of herself.

"Do not let your hope be spoiled by my bad decisions," he replied, waving his hand.

"But it was me who helped to convince you to leave!" She burst out, even as her mind was telling her not to feel guilty about him, because surely if something, they were even. It was Anairë she should be feeling guilty about. She had never spared her aunt a single thought, in convincing her uncle to leave, and it was one of the many things that lay heavily on her conscience these days, even though it hardly registered, compared to the responsibility she felt for the Ice.

"That is not what I meant," he clarified. "I had to go, you were right about that. But had I not argued with Anairë for years before, she might have gone with me. She might have trusted my reasons more, had I trusted hers before."

"We were all influenced by the lies of the Enemy," Nerwen tried to calm him, even though she knew very well he was likely right.

"Not her! And not you, either," he added.

"I certainly was," Nerwen corrected him, unable to let such a rose-tinted view of her stand, not when her conscience screamed. "Even though I never spoke to him – what else was it that made me ignore the warning of my elders and the Valar about the dangers of the journey? How could I contrive to put so many at risk?" She asked bitterly. "And as for your wife...I do not know. Perhaps had it not been for him, she might have had more patience for you, more understanding."

"But did I deserve more understanding?" He questioned. "You were not exactly full of it at that time either, I remember."

"Yes," Nerwen replied simply, "but I am not your wife."

He exhaled. "Let us not talk about Anairë," he said. "the memories hurt. Tell me about your love instead."

And so she did, even though she had originally intended this talk to be short, to cheer him up. Her uncle listened, and saw her memories, and smiled. "He sounds like a very interesting Elf," he said then. "I look forward to meeting him, and I wish you happiness, even though the idea of you living elsewhere...pains me."

"You saw the memory where we talked about that," Nerwen tried to reassure. "I would be back often."

"Yes. It would still not be the same."

No, it would not. That was what pained Nerwen as well, and why she was perhaps dreading the idea of a positive answer from Celeborn a little as well.


	9. Love

**Chapter 9: Love**

 _Year 38 of the Sun, Doriath_

This time, Nerwen waited longer before returning to Celeborn – the uncertainty was difficult for her, but she dreaded coming and learning he was not yet sure, and so, remembering his words that he might take longer than she did, she gave him time.

She tried not to think about him overmuch, too, if only to avoid giving herself away to those to whom she had not confessed her situation, but it was no easy task. His green eyes haunted her, and every time she glanced at the Moon, she was reminded of the silver of his hair. When she met one of the rare Sindar that were to be found in Hithlum, too, she remembered him, and every time she saw a husband treating a wife in a commanding manner, she thought of their talk.

It was very inconvenient when she needed to concentrate on helping to run a realm, but quite apart from that, it was driving her to insanity with longing and fear and hope. Finally she could take it no longer, and so she departed for Doriath and entered the Thousand Caves, days later, with nerves fluttering. The whole journey, with no duties to distract her, her mind had been plagued by insecurities. _Are you, with all that blood on your hands, worthy of him?_ She asked herself. _How can he not look in disgust upon one such as you, who contributed to so much suffering of your people? How can he tolerate that you are still friendly with Findekáno, who killed in Alqualondë – worse, with Maitimo?_

The gnawing doubts eased off somewhat when she entered Doriath, and she tried to remember that she was, after all, accounted wise and beautiful by many, and while her conscience was not perhaps as clear as his, surely that was not why one chose a spouse. _One does not_ choose _at all,_ a small, cynical voice in her head added, and she did not know whether it gave her hope or despair. She wished to believe that Eru would not be as cruel as to let her live the hell of unrequited love, but did she deserve his mercy?

In such thoughts, she arrived to King Elwë's court and allowed herself to be welcomed and distracted by Queen Melian until it was time for the welcoming feast. As before, Celeborn left the meal directly after his great uncle, but this time, he waited for her by the hall door and without having to utter a word, they both headed to the forest.

There was long silence between them, and in it, Nerwen's patience was stretched as thin as never before, the suspense almost impossible to bear, and she fought the impulse to turn to Celeborn and demand he stopped and gave her the answer immediately. She noticed that her hands were shaking, and was irritated beyond measure by this discovery. _You are Artanis Nerwen, a Noldorin princess, and your hands_ do not _shake_ , she told herself.

It had limited success.

She gritted her teeth, dug her fingernails into her palms, and walked on.

"My mind has cleared," Celeborn said, when they were quite deep in the forest already.

She turned her eyes to him, full of question. He stopped and took her hands in his, and looking directly at her, said seriously: "I love you, Artanis Nerwen, daughter of Arafinwe and Earwen, and I always will, to the end of the world."

Her head spun, and for a short moment she could not understand his words, could not entirely take in what they meant, and then she felt joy fill her heart, such violent, explosive joy she wanted to start laughing aloud or dancing through the forest and shouting it out to Queen Varda's stars. She made herself calm down, however, at least enough to reply, with a bright smile: "And I love you, Celeborn, son of Galadhon and Gelvil, more than anything and anyone, apart from Eru Illúvatar himself."

He embraced her, and they stood under the trees for a long time without movement, their minds resting in each other, entwined in easy companionship of no secrets kept. She saw the memories of his childhood in Doriath before the darkness returned, and he admired the stairways and white houses of Tirion. She saw their desperate fight in the first battle against Moricotto, and he saw their suffering on the Ice. And then they returned to pleasanter thoughts and memories, to their mutual love and the happiness they hoped to find in the future.

At length, they judged it would be prudent to return, and as they walked, he asked: "Should I visit your brothers to ask for permission?"

Nerwen laughed at that. "None of my brothers would think of withholding their permission from me, or, indeed, even pretend they have the right to give it at all. I think they'd be more likely to ask for _my_ permission if they decided to marry. But it's probably a good idea for you to see them, yes. I believe that it'd be best if I told them after I return North, and then brought them with me when I next come, so that they can get to know you a little."

"When do you believe we should marry?" Celeborn asked, with a touch of longing and even impatience in his voice.

"I don't know," she admitted. "It'll be hard for me to leave the Noldorin lands, and I'll have to say my goodbyes properly before I do. No sooner than in a few years, I'd say. What do you think?"

He smiled. "I would marry you here and now if I could, Galadriel, but then my decision is easier, I'm not leaving anything. I'll wait however long you want me to."

"Thank you." She paused. "Is that your name for me, Galadriel?"

"Yes. Or Alatáriel, if you wish, for that is how I first devised it and it is closer to your tongue. You do wear a radiant crown, after all, and are daughter to one who does as well, kin to kings and more queenly yourself than any I've ever known. And I see nothing of a man in you to call you Nerwen."

Nerwen smiled brightly at him, for in fact she loved the new name dearly, and it bore some resemblance to the name she would have taken as her chosen one, had it been appropriate. Nevertheless, she could not resist saying: "I always rather liked that name."

Celeborn kissed her hand. "But it was given to you by one who assumes girls are always less proud and weaker and more subdued. I do not believe it's so, and in my mind, those things make you more of a female than all the others."

Nerwen, or Galadriel, laughed at that. "Now I know this is the flame The One put in you speaking."

"No flame in me," he returned, "only very deep roots."

She grew serious. "You know that is not true."

"Perhaps not entirely," he conceded, "but it is what I wish was true. Not as regards my love for you, of course, but in...other things."

She raised her eyebrows at him. "Strange of you to say so, after you promised yourself to me. I was told by many that the fire in me could be matched only by Feanor himself, of all the Elves they knew."

"But your fire gives you strength, makes you great and proud," he explained. "My fire, when it manifests, only makes me say foolish things on impulse."

Galadriel smiled again. "Fire always has the potential to do both. My fire whispers the same to me, it was only by long Valian years spent listening to the soothing councils of Lady Estë and Lord Olórin, and my Vanyar relations, that I learned to temper it with wisdom and mercy and compassion and patience."

"I note you do not count your mother's kin among those who helped you," he said with an answering smile.

"No," she admitted. "I love my mother dearly, but I never had much in common with her. Nor with my father, particularly, but with her even less so. I visited her people occasionally, but of all her children, it was only Angrod who felt true kinship with them. They loved the sea, and the only reason I was ever attracted to it was for the thought of what lay beyond. They cared not for the worries of the wise, something that interested me most of all. For a long time, I though I had nothing from my mother's side of the family, except my voice."

"And now?" Celeborn asked curiously.

Nerwen extended one of her arms to encompass the forest around her. "Now I see that the trait I inherited from the Teleri stayed on this side of the sea. I have a deep love for trees, and things that grow in general."

He smiled at her again and there was a short silence, then he noted: "Well, I don't have Lady Estë or any of the others to help me calm my fire. Though you might."

She chuckled. "If Lord Olórin ever heard I was asked to teach anyone patience and prudence, he'd have laughed out of his bodily form, I believe."

He kissed her hand in response, then asked: "Who's this Lord Olórin you keep speaking of? An ancestor who stayed behind?"

"Oh no." Galadriel heaved a sigh. "He's one of the Maiar, and they said he was the wisest one, though I'm not sure they counted your queen in that, for she was already departed from Aman. I used to meet with him in Lórien and talk to him and listen to his advice. He was one of my dearest friends."

Celeborn heard the sadness in her voice, and the longing, and took her hand again. "I can't replace the friends you've lost," he said, "but I can endeavour to make sure you'll never feel lonely again."

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Nerwen respected the rights of her eldest brother enough to tell him of her betrothal first, after returning North. He was still holding her hands from welcoming her as they stood alone in the courtyard of his house, after all the officials left, and now he pressed them, looking into her eyes, and asked: "Have you felt the Flame?"

"Yes."

He smiled. "Then there is nothing else to be said, is there?"

"Thank you for trusting me," she replied, for he had not always done so in the past.

"My dear, if you could not tell if it was real, no one could," he pointed out with a smile. "Tell me of him, though. What is he like?"

"He is wise, thought not perhaps as much as you, and he respects me, likely more than you do-"

Ingoldo's smile quickly disappeared at that, and she pressed his hand. "Do not take it too much to heart, brother. He does not have the disadvantage of being my older sibling, so it is not really a fair comparison."

"I have always respected your advice, Artanis," he said very seriously.

"Enough to hear it? Yes."

"But not enough to do what you said?" He tried to finish the thought for her.

"Not enough not to be dismissive of it," she corrected. "There is a difference. Findekáno does not always listen to me, let alone Uncle, and yet they can disagree without being patronizing. But you are too much like Father for that, I think." Though Arafinwë did give her some validation, in the end.

Ingoldo embraced her upon hearing that. "I promise to do better in the future," he murmured in her ear, heavy with apology.

"And I will try not to be so hard on you," she returned. "I know you have been treating me better ever since we came to Middle-Earth." Ever since the Ice, in fact. Ever since they worked together and supported each other and made sure than as many of their people as possible survived.

He let her go, and tugging on her hand to get her walking – not in the direction of his house, but outside, to the meadows of Tol Sirion covered with late spring flowers in bloom – he said: "But you distracted me. We were talking about your betrothed. I already know he is wise. Is he like you in other things too, as strong and proud and full of fire?"

Nerwen considered. "No, to be truthful. Celeborn is not what I expected when I dared to imagine what my husband might look like. I have always pictured someone like...Findekáno with more wisdom, I think."

"A cross between him and his brother, then?" Ingoldo suggested.

She grimaced. "You know what I think about Turukáno's wisdom. More between Fëanáro and our father, as absurd as that sounds – Ñolofinwë is somewhere between them, after all, and if if was not for him being so much older, not to mention my uncle, I would consider him the closest to my ideal, even though he occasionally made me feel he lacked both fire and wisdom, a little."

Ingoldo laughed. "You are not easy to please, sister."

"No, but you knew that already. But anyway, Celeborn is not at all like that. He is...different. I do not know him well enough to give you a very detailed description yet, but he is impulsive and passionate sometimes, but he considers things deeply when is not overtaken by that. He is modest-"

"One thing I seem to remember you found irritating about me and our brothers," he said with a raised eyebrow that was so much like her own.

"You are misinterpreting me. Intentionally, I think," she added, not willing to get entangled into another explanation of why exactly it was that she criticized her brothers so often. "Anyway, I think I can glimpse some of the reasons behind this choice for me – he can control my pride without limiting me in any way, with his calm consideration. He is not demanding in the slightest, and respects me fully, without submitting to me in any way."

"Give him time," Ingoldo murmured, and Nerwen smacked him playfully.

"The One knows what he is doing," she said confidently, "and you know I could not bear it if he did submit."

Ingoldo smirked. "Yes, but then again, you could not bear it if he did not. Perhaps I should warn him, really."

"Do not waste your breath, he has felt the Flame too," Nerwen replied smugly.

Ingoldo's face broke out into a warm smile. "So you told him about Alqualondë? I am glad."

Galadriel was surprised that had even been in question. "It would have been dishonest otherwise," she pointed out, "and besides, how could I expect him to make up his mind if he did not know what he truly felt for me and who I was?"

"I know. Perhaps I had some doubts about you being able to swallow your pride enough for that." He sighed. "You are right, I do not trust you enough, when I am the last person who should talk about pride when it comes to those we love."

This time if was Nerwen who embraced him, trying in vain to soothe away the pain of Amarië's absence.

"Do not worry about me, sister. I made my bed – ignoring your advice, I might add – and I will have to lie in it. An in truth, I have some doubts about the realness of the Flame I felt, if I was able to abandon her. But I am very glad you did not make a similar kind of mistake."

Findekáno, to whom her steps naturally led afterwards, was less so. "Was it wise?" He asked.

She raised her eyebrows. "What would you have me do?"

"I know," he muttered, clear and genuine pain in his voice.

She paused, amazed, as a thought struck her, one that could not have occurred to her before, as she had not had the experience with the Flame of Eru. "Is that why you do not have a wife?"

His eyes darted up to her, and then away again, but he stopped hiding a little, and she saw the brightness of flame of love in him, and the pain of knowing it will not be truly returned. "It is easier for you, you did not take part in it," he said heavily. "But what can I say?"

"You feel remorse, Findekáno. I am sure she would understand, whoever she is."

"But what if she would not?" He asked bitterly. "The thought of revealing something like this and then seeing the revulsion in her eyes is terrible. As it is, I can at least be her friend."

"And have you thought of her in this at all?" Nerwen asked, upset. "If the responding flame is in her, she will never know, because of your secrecy, and will spend eternity alone as well."

Findekáno frowned. "In Aman, your reasoning might have been sound, but here there is no guarantee that she would love me in turn."

Galadriel shook her head. "I have heard the same stories you did, but they are only occasional rumours. The majority of Elves still find their love returned. Do not do this to yourself, and to her."

Findekáno suddenly laughed, and rose from his chair to pour them both wine. "You are on a very high horse ever since you are happily engaged, are you not?"

"It does that to you," she replied with a smile. "Another reason I recommend it. It unlocks a very important aspect of our life to you, and suddenly, so many things make sense."

"For example?" He asked curiously, handing her a goblet.

"For example why Melian married Elwë."

He seemed impressed. "Perhaps the flame I feel is not real, then," he mused, sitting back down. "It still would not seem like a good enough reason to me, judging from what you have told me."

"You are thinking like a crown prince," Nerwen replied, sipping from her cup. "You could not in good conscience marry a lady who would be bad for your kingdom, but then I believe The One would not make you love one. It was different for Lady Melian – she did not have any responsibilities before marrying Elwë, and she is certainly good for his kingdom." She paused, and added: "And the Flame does gain in insistence once you know it is returned."

He raised his eyebrows. "What are you doing here, then?"

She laughed. "I do have some self-control, you know. And...despite everything, my heart feels heavy abandoning the North." She looked away from him, but he sensed there was something she was not saying.

"What is it, Nerwen?"

She placed the goblet down on the table between them. "I am wondering...whether I would have been able to do it at all, if it was not for some of the things that have happened recently. Ingoldo leaving Amarië behind, the younger of my brothers insisting on going, the tragedy at Alqualondë, your father not giving me a realm to rule, Itarillë living so far away...as responsible as I feel for the realm, the bitterness I feel over many of these things makes it a little easier to leave."

Now it was him who turned his face away. "I am sorry," he said.

"So am I," she replied, because she knew this wound on her soul would take a long time to heal. "And I am sorry, too, for being so hard on you, when I have enough failings on my own."

He laughed bitterly. "When you have blood on your hands, we will talk."

"And what else is Helcaraxë?" She asked angrily.

They had had this discussion before, several times. Sometimes he agreed with her, sometimes he did not. On this day, he said: "Do you think we would not have gone had you not spoken?"

"I do not know. I know that I have spoken, and you have gone, and many died. I can no longer look your brother in the eye, for I feel guilt for the death of his wife." It had been the same with Itarillë for a time, but the young princess could see her mind and she realized soon enough and made Nerwen understand, with her own open mind, that while she blamed many for the death of her mother, Artanis was not one of them.

"You never tried to convince him to go, let alone Elenwë!" Findekáno cried now.

That was what Itarillë had said as well, but still… "Yet he was convinced by my argument to your father, and we both know Elenwë would never let him go without her. She left her entire family behind, only to die, and she might not have, had I not spoken."

"She was innocent of any wrongdoings," Findekáno reminded her, "and I am sure the Valar will allow her to return from Mandos soon."

"Oh yes, the confidence my brother has. I envy him in this."

She saw in Findekáno's eyes that he did as well. "How long will I stay, do you think? Will they ever let me out?" He asked, a quiet despair in his voice.

Nerwen longed to reassure him. He uncovered his guilt and fear rarely enough, mostly hiding him under cheerful demeanour, and every time he did, it tore at her heart. But what could she say? "Sooner than me, I would wager," she replied, touching his hand in comfort.

"I doubt that." He sighed and was silent for a moment, then words seemed to burst out from him as he rose from his chair. "Do you not see that this is the true reason why I cannot confess my love?" He asked, striding to the window. "We are at war, and I will die in it sooner or later, and then I will be kept in the Halls of Waiting for ages. How could I condemn any nis to that?"

"If she feels the Flame for you, she will have to wait nonetheless, and with no certainty of your affection," Nerwen pointed out, startled by his vehemence.

Findekáno shrugged, attempting to force himself into calm and nonchalance. "Even if she does, she might still marry someone else," he said, still looking outside.

Nerwen stared at him, horrified. "Surely you would not condemn yourself to-"

"I wish to spare her, do you not see?" He exclaimed, turning, any pretence of composure abandoned. "Being bound to me would bring nothing but suffering."

Galadriel abandoned her wine and walked to him, embracing him tightly. "Oh, beloved," she said. "Why did you not tell me?"

"Because I feared you would see me as a coward-" He muttered into her hair.

"Findekáno, I could never see you as a coward. You are the bravest person I know."

He laughed hollowly, pulling away a little and staring out of the window once again. "Am I? I wish to believe that is if was truly only about me, about my fear of rejection, I would take the risk, but sometimes I am not so certain. But whatever the truth about this, I know my other reasons are true. We are doomed. How could I drag a Sinda into that?"

"Do you think I should not have pursued Celeborn, then?" Nerwen asked in sudden worry.

"No!" He exclaimed, his eyes returning to her. "No, that is precisely what I meant before, your guilt is lesser than mine, whatever you might think, and you are not the heiress to High Kingship. You might escape the doom, if you live in Doriath. But there is no hope for me, and so I cannot do this."

Nerwen wished dearly she could offer some good counter-argument, but there were not any. She still did not agree, but Findekáno knew all the reasons she did not and still his mind remained unchanged. She was at a loss: Findekáno was ever the optimist, always believing every situation would work itself out to the best. He went to Angband with that belief, and yet he could not have faith in his wife not being condemned to despair. She had known, of course, that his guilt had scarred him – they were all scarred – but she had not realized it was to this degree.

"Who is she?" She asked at length.

He frowned. "I do not want you to tell her," he said.

"Do you trust me so little?" Galadriel asked, hurt.

"No, I am sorry." He paused, and then said quietly: "It is Ambë."

 _Oh_. Nerwen tightened her embrace again for a moment, at a loss for words."Does anyone else know?" She asked then.

"No. I would tell my father, but...I fear he would pressure me into marriage, to ensure there were heirs."

Nerwen tried to decide if her uncle would do such a thing, but in truth, she could no longer tell. She would have never guessed he would deny her her own realm either.

"Perhaps if the situation was truly dire," Findekáno continued, "the I might sway myself with the consideration as well. After all, concern for our people could, I believe, match concern for _her_ in being a just reason for acting, or not acting. But there are enough heirs. My brother, and all of yours, and Artaresto. I do not feel...well, I do not feel truly obliged."

Nerwen pursed her lips. "You should not. That is not the reason why you should speak."

"Please, beloved, do not...I am decided not to, and so you will not change my mind, but you will make it heavier."

Obligingly, Galadriel stopped and simply stood with him in that loose embrace.

"I wish," he muttered at length, looking out of the window once more, "that there was no such thing as the Flame."

She frowned. "Would you live without love, then?"

He shook his head, letting her go. "No, not without love," he said, starting to pace the room, "but we love our siblings and parents and friends without the all-encompassing burn that comes with the Flame. While leaving any of them for duty hurts, it is nothing compared to the pain of long parting from someone whom you feel the Flame for, and I feel...I feel we would be freer, without it, if we could simply choose our wives and husbands the way we choose friends."

Technically, they could, of course, but it was useless pointing that out. It was clear that was not what Findekáno was talking about. "The One has reasons for everything," she said. "I am sure there are reasons for the existence of the Flame as well."

"...and we should not question it?" Findekáno smiled a little and shot her a look, not pausing in his pacing. "You sound like your father."

"Well, you can have many objections to him, but you cannot deny that he is wise," Nerwen said a little sharply.

"I do not-" He sighed, and now he stopped to look at her properly. "Nerwen, you left Aman after you heard the Doom of Mandos, while knowing clearly what you were doing. Surely you of all people must understand my unwillingness to simply bend to the will of The One without complaint?"

"It is precisely because of that," she replied, "that I think you should. Even if I have a hard time following my own advice sometimes."

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AN: I'm pretty sure this was originally intended to be a happy chapter, but that's clearly something I'm incapable of.


	10. Loves

**Chapter 10: Loves**

 _Year 40 of the Sun, Hithlum_

When Nerwen told Itarillë of her betrothal, her silver-footed cousin turned away her face to hide her feelings, but more would be needed to prevent the older lady's ability to read hearts.

"I am sorry," she said, "and I sincerely promise to do my best to visit as often as possible."

"Yet it is hardly going to be as often as it was now, is it?" Itarillë replied, still not looking at her. "And not even that had been enough for me..."

This was precisely the reason Nerwen had not told Itarillë about Celeborn sooner, guilty as she had felt about it. Because she felt even guiltier about abandoning her friend. "No," she said, "but it is my intention to come to the Noldorin lands at least once a year, and spend a few months here. At least some weeks of that could surely be spared for your father's house."

Itarillë sighed. "It is me who should be apologizing to you," she said, finally turning her eyes to Nerwen, who could see pain in them. "I wish to be happy for you, for I know that in spite of everything, you often felt lonely. It is just that...I feel so, too."

Nerwen's heart constricted, and she gripped the railing of the balcony they were standing on a little harder. "The One has a place for you in his plans too, beloved, do not despair," she said the only words of comfort that came to her mind. "I cannot say how soon, of course, since only He knows, but then, I have lived for hundreds of years without you, I am certain you can manage a year in one stretch."

"Something tells me it had been easier in Aman, and without Irissë in your household," Itarillë replied in a lighter tone.

Galadriel laughed. "I concede that is true, but then, she is away so often you hardly notice her, do you?"

"That only makes it more marked when she is here," Itarillë pointed out. "But no, you are right, it could be so much worse. It is just that I know I will miss you bitterly."

Nerwen looked deep into her eyes. "It is not just that, I sense," she said. "You also feel that I am betraying my people. That I said for years that I cannot leave them more often even to visit you, and yet I am willing to move to Doriath now, only because I fell in love."

Itarillë seemed in agony. "I am deeply ashamed of those thoughts, and said aloud they sound even worse. Do not take them seriously, I beg you."

The older lady shook her head, leaning over the railing to stare towards the sea. "Do not be ashamed, when I feel the same things myself, often. And yet it is not enough to make me change my mind. I do not believe this can be explained. When you feel the Flame yourself, you will understand."

"Is it like that, though?" Itarillë asked, and there was worry in her voice now. "It was enough for my mother to attempt to follow my father over the Ice, but not enough for our Queen to go. Is it always equally strong?"

Nerwen turned to look at Itarillë fully and replied: "I believe it can be extinguished when your heart darkens – that is, I think, what happened to Fëanáro and Nerdanel. As to your grandmother...it has not gone quite that far, but the Enemy affected us all to some degree, and my Aunt and Uncle were no exception. Indeed, he was one of those hit more heavily. Their love is not dead, but in the darkness of the hour, it was...shadowed, I would say? Concealed from their own minds. I know that your grandfather regrets Anairë's absence deeply now, and I imagine she regrets letting him go as well."

Itarillë listened attentively, and then she laughed suddenly. "Will I ever be as wise as you are?" She asked.

"I hope you will be wiser," Galadriel replied.

"Now you are lying," Itarillë pointed out.

"See?" Her older cousin noted dryly. "It is approaching already." Then she grew serious. "You are right that I was not being honest, but it is what I wish I hoped for. I am prideful, but I am aware of it, at least."

"Is that a jab at Irissë?" Itarillë asked with a smirk.

Nerwen tried to look innocent, and failed. "Maybe? Though I think she knows too, really, she just does not find anything wrong with it."

"And you do?"

Another laugh. "A little. I am trying – but it is hard when people around me are so foolish!"

They laughed together at this. "I expect King Elwë is not helping in this, from what you have told me..." Itarillë said.

"No. I fear living in his kingdom will make me more insufferable than ever. Fortunately Lady Melian is there to keep me at bay, and Lúthien, too, in some ways," Nerwen added, smiling.

"You never mentioned wisdom when you talked about her..."

"She does have her own kind of it, but that is not what I meant. No, she keeps me modest in other ways – as regards my beauty!"

Itarillë's laugh tinkled again. "So the stories are not exaggerated? You never talked about that part..."

"Because she does not particularly like people gushing about it," Galadriel explained, leaning back on the railing. "She is not self-conscious or falsely modest, but she thinks that compared to the beauty of a forest in spring, no one should be paying her any attention. But she truly is the most beautiful of all the children of the One. If only I inherited my grandmother's people's gift of composing poems, I would present you with one, but as it is, I have to make do with one of Dearon's, Elwë's chief minstrel." Nerwen paused, and then sang the tune of one of the ballads she heard Daeron sing most often in the halls of Thousand Caves: "'She walks in beauty like the night of cloudless climes and starry skies, and all that's best of dark and bright meets in her aspect and her eyes.'"

She did not have the gift to compose songs, but she did have a musical voice, and as she sang the bard's words, the vision of beautiful Lúthien rose before Itarillë's eyes. She sighed softly.

"I tried to present to father the idea that I would visit Doriath," she said after a moment, watching the sea, "after you bothered me about it so relentlessly, but he got very upset by the mere thought, just as I knew he would. Perhaps Princess Lúthien will come here for your wedding?"

Galadriel shook her head. "Her father is much like yours in this," she said, "he will not let her outside the borders of his realm, and even though she is certainly powerful enough to disobey him, she loves him too much for that."

"I always thought you were too perfect to be real," Itarillë noted. "But she sounds even more so. Beautiful, powerful, wise and modest, and a princess to boot? Where is the justice in that?"

"That is what happens when your mother is a Maia, I am afraid. But you are one to complain, given that you all all of the above, too, though I will not deny she is more powerful, and her beauty has something otherworldly in it."

Itarillë frowned, turning around to lean her back against the railing next to Galadriel. "And her wisdom? You said she had her own kind...what does that mean?"

"There are many kinds of wisdom," he friend replied. "Your father is wiser in some ways than Findekáno, I acknowledge that when I am truly honest with myself, even though Findekáno is closer to my heart. In some other ways, though, he is foolish. It is so with Lúthien, too. She knows much, some of the things I do not, and she would not make some of my mistakes. But she would make some of her own, and she has a particular kind of selfishness about her, one of the differences between you."

"What do you mean?"

Nerwen smiled at her. "Simply that while you never desired to be Queen, I believe you would make a good one, though it would not make you happy; but Lúthien would not. She does not have it in her to take on responsibility for others."

"Like Irissë?" Itarillë asked, for they both knew such description fit this relation of theirs perfectly.

"A little, yes. I mean, they are very different, but in this selfishness, they are similar." Galadriel frowned, then laughed again. "Now I feel bad for saying that of my friend!"

"Perhaps you should feel bad for thinking this way of Irissë, then," Itarillë said with her eyebrows raised. "She is not wholly bad."

Galadriel sighed. "You know I know she is not. I simply...personally dislike her."

Itarillë smiled and put an arm around her cousin's waist. "I do know, and you know I complain of her incessantly as well. I simply sometimes realize that she must be as lonely here as I am, and then I feel guilty." She paused, and her smile widened. "But I still hope her current visit with the sons of Fëanáro will take as long as possible, for her sake as well as mine – except I wish it had not pained my father so."

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Leaving Turukáno's house, Galadriel came across Lord Laurefindil in the door, and as he bowed, she smiled at him.

"My lady," he said.

"Lord Laurefindil. I am surprised to see you have not been selected to accompany my cousin on her journey this time," she said, laughing internally.

There was an answering twinkle in his eyes as he returned: "Lord Turukáno decided that I needed to rest occasionally, too. Ecthelion went this time."

"I congratulate you on your reprieve, then," Nerwen said.

"Thank you, my lady." He stepped aside to allow a servant to pass, and asked: "How fare you? I have not talked to you for a very long time, and there is a rumor going around that you are to leave us for good."

"I would not put it as strongly myself, but yes, I see the grapevine is as efficient as ever. I am engaged to Lord Celeborn of Doriath, and I will spend the majority of time there after my marriage," Nerwen confirmed. "I will be returning north regularly, though," she added, "and I am not getting married sooner than in some years, so the day I would depart is not upon us quite yet."

"I am glad to hear that, my lady," he said seriously, "and let me only say that we will all miss you here once you do. I sincerely wish you happiness, but your wisdom is needed here all the same."

"I will never truly leave the North, and I have every reason to believe your king will continue consulting with me." She smiled: "Do not try to make me feel guilty, Lord Laurefindil." _Eru knows I manage well enough on my own._

"I would never flatter myself to think that my saying anything would influence you in your decisions, my lady," he replied.

Nerwen raised her eyebrows at him. "I am not entirely sure if that was a compliment or an insult."

He bowed his head. "Perhaps to some other, it might have been a hidden insult, but to you, only ever a compliment."

She smiled. "In that case, thank you, and I wish you to enjoy your reprieve, and may it last as long as possible."

"I am ever grateful, my lady," he said and bowed to her in farewell.

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Galadriel felt strange returning to Doriath with all of her brothers. It made the visit very official, something that made her uneasy – her stays here have always been about finding shelter from the burdens of Middle-Earth and drawing strength for her continued work in the North. Now, she was a little nervous instead – she wanted her brothers, especially Ingoldo, to like Celeborn, and him to like them. She was more uncertain about the second part. There were some on her side whose approval she was not sure he would gain, Ñolofinwë first among them, but her brothers were open-minded and accepting. Celeborn she was not so confident about. But the chances were not bad – Ingoldo and Angaráto were both mostly mild-mannered, and there was small chance they would particularly irritate Celeborn by anything. For once, that what she always found frustrating about them came in handy. As for Aikanáro, Celeborn actually knew him best of her brothers and had talked to him beyond pleasantries, so she had no reason to worry there.

They were all welcomed warmly by King Elwë, who, as was his habit, arranged a welcoming feast for them, where they would all be sitting as guests of honour. While Galadriel was certain he knew from Lady Melian about her betrothal, nothing had been announced officially, and so he treated this as merely another courteous visit, though of a slightly larger group than before. That was a good thing, she supposed, but it also meant she was seated next to Lúthien, as usual, while Celeborn was long way down the table. On her other side was Lady Ernil, which, while common enough, was also probably no accident.

Lúthien was not being precisely sympathetic either. She looked at Galadriel, frowned a little, and said: "You're in love with Celeborn!"

"Yes," Galadriel agreed easily.

"Why haven't you let me see before?" Lúthien asked in a surprised and slightly hurt tone of voice.

"We've hardly talked properly since I realized," Galadriel defended herself, "I was only here twice since then, and for a short while, and I spent most of those visits with him. It didn't seem like the sort of thing to show you in passing."

"Still, my mother knew, didn't she?" The princess insisted.

Galadriel smiled. "Yes, well, she was rather easier to find in Thousand Caves than you had been during my two visits. I haven't seen you at all during the first one, and only glimpsed you leaving for the forest during the second."

"And did you send a bird to me to let me know you wished to speak to me? Did you send a message by the trees?"

Nerwen sighed. Sometimes, Lúthien tended to forget that these things were not as easy for everyone as they were for her. "No," she said, then hesitated. "You're...actually hurt?"

The princess turned her bottomless eyes to her. "Yes," she answered simply.

"I'm sorry. I...didn't think you'd be so very interested."

"Why?" Lúthien seemed honestly uncomprehending.

Galadriel thought about how to phrase it without giving more offense. "You're not always...so very interested in Elves," she said at length. "The forest holds the first place in your heart."

"That is true about most elves, but you are my friend," Lúthien returned, again with traces of pain in her voice. Galadriel's guilt was mounting.

"I know, but even with me," she still tried to defend herself, "you are more interested in sharing the beauty of Lady Yavanna's creations than in talking about occurrences in my life. I don't mind this," she hastened to add, because she truly didn't – she had plenty of other friends to discuss politics with, and not enough to accompany her for forest walks. "But this is why I didn't think you'd so wish to know so soon."

"I don't care about little trifles happening to you too much, you're right," Lúthien replied, "but you have felt the Flame of Eru! That is entirely different!"

Galadriel rather thought that Lúthien's opinion on what were little trifles was rather different from most people's, given that worry about the future of entire kingdoms was apparently in that category. She also thought that had Lúthien been less self-contained, she would have been fully capable of discerning the Flame in her even during the short time they saw each other on her last visit. Then she remembered her talk with Itarillë, and felt mildly ashamed of her thoughts. That, in turn, recalled to her mind a long-ago conversation with Lord Olórin, in which she had confessed to something she was deeply ashamed of – always judging people very harshly, it seemed to her, even when others around her only admired them. He had asked for examples, and she, even more ashamed, recounted some. He smiled at her then and said: "And are you judgments untrue?"

"I do not believe so," she began uncertainly, "but..."

"Then do not be ashamed of them. What you would have to be ashamed of is if you treated people unkindly because of this. Only remember that no one beside the One is perfect, and you have no reason to worry."

She missed Lord Olórin's advice bitterly here in Middle-Earth, even in the presence of Lady Melian. After all, the Queen was more like Lady Estë, and there, Nerwen always sought a different kind of advice.

Her mind returned to the present, and to Lúthien, and she said: "I'm truly sorry, I misjudged how you'd see the situation. I hope you can forgive me, and I'll do my best to do better in future."

Lúthien smiled, pain leaving her face as suddenly as it appeared there. "Of course I can forgive you," she replied, "but since you're not going to be feeling the Flame again, I'm sot sure what exactly you mean by 'in future'."

Lúthien's list of noteworthy occurrences in her friend's life was apparently very short.

"To add to the list of those who felt neglected, you could have spared the time to come and speak to me," Lady Ernil said from Galadriel's other side. "My grandson told me, naturally, but you must have known I'd have wished to speak with you."

"I wished to tell my brothers first," Nerwen replied. "And you didn't seek me out either, my lady."

"You made it very difficult to, as you've just said yourself, staying only for a short time in Thousand Caves." Lady Ernil paused. "But let's not argue. I'd have appreciated an opportunity to speak with you earlier, but it's true that we'll have all the time we need after you marry, and it's not as if I had any intention to try and prevent the wedding taking place."

Galadriel was rather relieved to hear that. She would not wish to have to go against Lady Ernil. "I'll be happy to get to know you better, my lady," she said.

"Yes, and I you." Lady Ernil chewed on a bit of venison, then continued: "My grandson's choice is certainly extraordinary, but then, he's always been an extraordinary boy."

Galadriel smiled. "Do I sense stories?"

"Not anything particularly amusing, I assure you. But he's more given to idle consideration of possibilities and what ifs than others of our people, and he sometimes had trouble finding those willing to discuss things with him. He might have that in you, am I correct?" And Lady Ernil turned her piercing gaze on her fully.

They younger lady refused to be intimidated. "That was how we first talked, so I'd say yes, certainly. And his different point of view is very refreshing for me."

"Then we'll have to debate between ourselves one day as well, to see if you'd find mine equally so."

Galadriel tried to ignore the cold dread that spread through her at these words.

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King Elwë mercifully left his dining hall early, and Celeborn and Galadriel rose simultaneously immediately after him. She turned to Ingoldo and said: "Give us time. We'll come back, and then we can all talk together."

Her brother laughed. "From the way you act," he said, "everyone'd say _you_ were the eldest brother."

It was not the first time he said this to her by far, so she merely raised an eyebrow and he laughed again and said: "Go. We're in no hurry."

On their way out of Thousand Caves, Celeborn asked: "Would you have stayed if he told you to?"

Galadriel laughed at this notion. "Oh, I wasn't really asking for his permission! More, I was letting him know we would be back this evening, so they they know they shouldn't go to sleep."

They entered the forest and stood there in silent embrace for a long time, enjoying each other's presence after the long absence. They opened their minds, and so ideas and emotions floated freely between them, and there was great closeness and harmony of thought. Galadriel showed him the images of her talks with her cousins and brothers, and he in turned uncovered how the announcement to his own family had gone. Then they turned towards the future, working together to spin imagine of the happiness that was to come, barring any thought of shadow from their mind for the moment, basking in their joy.

"My parents will wish to speak with you at some point," Celeborn muttered when, several hours later, they headed back to Thousand Caves.

"Yes, I had rather assumed they would," Galadriel replied, "given that your grandmother's already sought me out twice..."

Celeborn chuckled. "Yes, well, grandmother Ernil is rather more...involved than my parents ever are. She is a little like you, I'd say, whereas my parents, my father in particular...they trust me and are mostly happy to let me direct my life the way I wish. They aren't very people-oriented, and while they have nothing against you, their interest is mostly out of politeness – and because grandmother Ernil insists they should 'care at least a little about whom their son is marrying', as I believe she's put it. I think she thinks I might get offended otherwise."

"And would you?"

"No." He hesitated. "This might be difficult for you to understand, since from what I've seen, your family tends to be much more involved in each others' lives, but...we're used to a largely solitary existence. I'm a little more sociable than most of them, I believe, and so's my grandmother, but my parents, my brother and my mother's parents are all happiest when alone, or only with their spouse – as you might have gathered from the fact that you rarely ever see that at the feasts, and when they are present, they invariably retire soon."

Galadriel had indeed noticed that, and would have, in fact, sought them out before if it had not been for this habit. "And Prince Elmo?"

"Ah, grandfather Elmo." Celeborn smiled. "He's quite sociable, but mostly because of his love for his wife and our king, I believe. If it was up to him, he might well lose himself in the forest for years, but he cares for them too much for that." Then he smirked. "Also, grandmother Ernil would tear him to pieces after he came back."

They returned to Thousand Caves and, as they had hoped, found Galadriel's brothers alone in the feast hall. When they entered, Ingoldo rose to welcome them, smiling.

"So, Lord Celeborn," he said, "my sister tells me you are the most perfect Elf ever to walk under the stars."

"Actually, I never said anything in the least like it," Galadriel pointed out.

"I'd never believe you did," Celeborn assured her.

Ingoldo turned his eyes to his sister. "I was merely trying to help you. Or should I stick with my threat and try to warn him instead?"

"Do your worst," she said haughtily. "I don't fear you."

That made him laugh. "I can see she's very sure of you," he said, turning back to the Sindarin lord.

"And she's right to be," Celeborn replied in complete seriousness. "Nothing you or anyone else could ever say would turn me away from your sister, Prince Finrod...with the exception of herself."

"That might not a be a wise exception to make ," Ingoldo said with a small smile. "She might make you angry many times in the coming ages."

Celeborn shook his head. "That's not what I meant. I merely intended to say that if she ever asked me to leave, I'd not force my presence on her."

Ingoldo considered this. "You might be right in saying that," he said, "because my sister, despite all her fire, is not given to harsh words she would regret later. When she says something, she truly means it."

Celeborn smiled at this and kissed Galadriel's hand. "That's a good reminder," he said, "and, indeed, I'd consider it a rebuke if I wasn't aware that your brother didn't know me well enough for that – but perhaps he's a good reader of hearts, like you? In any case, my lady, please don't make such an exception for me. I'm given to exactly those failings he's just denied for you, and though it seems impossible to me now, I can't entirely deny the possibility that I'll one day say something to you only to regret it an instant later."

Aikanáro joined the conversation now, and in a cheerful tone, he said: "That won't throw her off. She's used to being friends with our king and crown prince, after all."

Celeborn gave her a questioning glance, and she admitted sheepishly: "Yes, they do it sometimes – though it's not in anger they act," she added, and her tone grew darker as she said: "It's others in our family who do that. No, it's usually a burst of a better emotion that inspires them to acts that are no – well – not always very well thought out, let's say." The memory of discovering that Findekáno had departed for Angband flashed in her mind.

Seeing it in her mind, Celeborn replied: "I have an unpleasant feeling that if your norm of ill-conceived acts is the High Prince's rescue of his cousin from Angband, you're going to be very disappointed in me."

"Celeborn, my friend," Ingoldo noted, "if she wasn't disappointed in you, you'd be the first Elf to ever achieve such honour." He paused. "Well," he added, "apart from herself, I suppose."

"Don't tempt me to throw something at you, brother mine," Galadriel said, only half joking, "You know I wouldn't be afraid of hurting you, since I can easily heal you afterwards."

"Are you truly that demanding?" Celeborn asked with a twinkle in his eyes.

Angaráto appeared to be seriously considering the question, and now said: "I don't believe _Itarillë_ disappoints my aunt. And the Vanyar never seemed to either."

Galadriel nodded to this. "Angrod knows me well," she said, a little surprised. "But I have to be even harsher on myself: the Vanyar never disappointed me because I never expected so much of them. They were as wise as I could ask of them, and that was all I wanted. Of Noldor, I always ask both wisdom and fire, and am disappointed when they fail in either. And even with _Itarillë_ , though she's very dear to me, I have to admit that her position is easier than our king's, or the princes' and yours, my brothers, and so it's easier for her not to give me any grief. For what are her duties, in which she could fail? No, I know I'm too hard on all of you, and I apologize."

"If you weren't, sister, how would we ever push ourselves to be better?" Ingoldo returned.

Celeborn spoke again. "And what," he said, "do you expect of the Sindar?"

She smiled at him. "I haven't had much time to learn to expect anything in particular yet, but given that you're going to be my teacher in this, I think the answer should be – everything, and more!"

"And that I promise to try my hardest to give you," Celeborn replied.

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AN: Yes, I misappropriated some of Byron's verses and made them Daeron's. This part of the poem has always seemed to me like the best description of Lúthien, in spite of being written a century before she was even conceived of (but maybe the poem was one of the inspirations?). If you want to hear it sung, search for 'She Walks In Beauty' and 'Sissel'.


	11. Cross Purposes

**Chapter Eleven: Cross Purposes**

 _Year 51 of the first Age, Hithlum_

It had been agreed in Doriath that the wedding would be in four years – hopefully enough for Galadriel to say goodbye to the northern lands at least a little decently – and that she would make another visit to Thousand Caves in the meantime. Given that she would be moving there, the wedding was to take place in Hithlum, so that Celeborn saw it at least once before he married her and also to allow her a proper, celebratory farewell.

Ñolofinwë offered his own house for the wedding, and so did Findekáno and Ingoldo, but after all due consideration, Galadriel choose her own home. She would miss it dearly, and it was made precisely according to her wishes – so what more perfect place could she possibly wish for?

In view of such early departure of her dearest friend, Itarillë for once overcame her distaste of abandoning her father and moved to Galadriel's house for the remainder of the time she had in the North. They talked for long hours and sang together, but were often disturbed, as the bride's brothers, Findekáno and the king himself now came over much more frequently than what had been usual, with the knowledge that one of their dearest would soon be taken from them.

On one such visit, the king stood on the terrace of Nerwen's house with his niece, and taking her hands, he said: "I am afraid."

Such words were not heard often form the High King of Noldor, so she turned her surprised eyes to him and asked: "Of what?"

"Of staying in the North without your advice. I have come to rely on you, more than I perhaps realized. The times are peaceful now, but it will not last, and I fear the time will come when you will be more sorely missed than I can imagine."

"You know I am always just a thought away, uncle," she muttered.

"And you know it is not the same as talking in person, or you would not mourn your departure," he replied with a small and not very cheerful smile. "I can convey the basic news, and you can perhaps send me your thoughts on what, roughly, should be done in return, but for when we need to discuss things in detail...not even husband and wife are quite close enough to achieve that with thought-sharing, usually, let alone the two of us."

"If you have need of me, you have but to call," she tried to reassure.

"And if I have always need of you?" Her uncle asked.

She closed her eyes, and he sighed and turned his head away. "No," he said, "I apologize. I do not want to give my own burdens to you. You deserve happiness."

"Should I have asked Celeborn to move here?" She enquired.

Ñolofinwë shook his head. "You are respected and cherished in Doriath, but he would not be quite so much so here. He would not be happy, and it could destroy your marriage. Do not forget that you were going to the forest kingdom regularly even before you met him. The place has some consolation for you apart from him; he would have none here."

"Do you believe he would not learn to love it here?" Hithlum was not as beautiful as Doriath, it was true, but it had its own harsh beauty. And the mountains were a sight.

"I do not know him, but I think growing up in the peace and bliss of Doriath, it would be hard for him to adjust. By all means, come as often as you can after you marry, and perhaps you will find that he loves the Noldorin lands – but do not hold out too much hope."

Nerwen sighed. "When I first felt something for him, I believed it was a test from the One – could I let go of my pride and my desire for power to follow the love he offered me? Now, I feel like I am betraying my people."

"Never think that," Ñolofinwë said sharply. "If nothing else, those same people respect you and go to you for advice and help, but none of them would choose you as their ruler, their queen."

She raised her eyes to him: "Is my bitterness so easy to spot?" She asked.

"My child, do not forget that you talked to me of your desires for a kingdom of your own long before we left Aman. And I am still wise enough to see that you would be at least as good a ruler as I am. But hearts of Elves are their own, and they are not ready to follow a nis. I can see the injustice of it as clearly as you can."

Galadriel refrained from pointing out how hypocritical that was of her Uncle, and instead, said: "I am the youngest child of a youngest brother. It would not have been different had I been a ner."

"Yet all of your brothers have households of their own, do they not?"

Nerwen stared at him. She did not wish to argue, not now, but this was truly too much. "Because you granted them lands, while you granted none to me!" She said, with some force.

It was his turn to stare. "You are well aware that it is the other way round! Because they each had a following, I granted them lands."

"You told me that there was simply no room for me, that there was not enough space, because they all needed to have their share, including the sons of Fëanáro!"

"Beloved, did you really think it was because I thought you were less deserving of them?" He asked in shock. "No. Never. It was because I knew not enough elves would be willing to follow you there, and we cannot afford to have lands unprotected in this dangerous world."

Galadriel looked into his eyes and saw only truth in them, and the assumptions of the last half a century fell into ruins around her. She blinked to hold back tears, and embraced him fiercely, suddenly bitterly ashamed of ever believing such a thing of her most beloved uncle. "I am sorry for misjudging you," she muttered in a choked voice, "but why did you not tell me? You only spoke about not having enough lands at out disposal..."

"Because we do not!" He replied, pulling back a little to look her in the eyes. "If Elwë had allowed us some well-protected area inlands, I would have given it to you without hesitation. And I would have given you land if there were no other noble princes the people could follow. But as it was...I knew each of them had their following, as least a small one, and so had to be given some lands. You, on the other hand, did not, and so I could not give you precedence over them, as much as I wished to..."

Galadriel exhaled, a breath she seemed to had been holding for fifty years of the Sun, flooded with relief. "It had seemed so unfair to me, when I remembered all those talks and I thought, how could he forget about me?" She said, the tears threatening to overflow again.

"I never could, beloved. How could you even think so? It never occurred to me...did you not see my mind?"

Nerwen closed her eyes, the shame mounting, taking over the relief. "I think...I think bitterness and anger clouded my sight – precisely the failure I am so apt to scold others for!"

He tightened the embrace once again. "Do not be so hard on yourself," he said. "It was the one thing you have always wanted, escaping you once again. You had some reason to be angry."

"Perhaps. That does not mean I should not have acted more reasonably."

He knew better than to argue with her. They stood there in silence for some time, then he returned to their previous topic of conversation. "Do not feel guilty abound abandoning these people," he said, "but do not feel bitter towards them either, and do not forget them."

"I never could," she returned.

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Ingoldo had been rather lacking in his usual calm during his talks to Nerwen ever since Lord Ulmo had visited him in a dream, and so she took him with her when she returned to Doriath. It was a good thing he got on so well with Elwë, really, because she had no time for anyone but Celeborn. Lúthien had been a little disappointed that Galadriel would not accompany her to see that beautiful cluster of niphredil that grew close to where Esgalduin joined Sirion, but seemed to have more understanding for the Flame than she had for other reasons Nerwen normally offered when she did not feel like accompanying the Sindarin princess, and simply wished her enjoyment with a smile before she departed herself. Lady Melian, of course, was entirely full of understanding and noted that they would have all the time they wanted to be together soon enough. But Aikanáro, who always found himself bored quite soon when they visited Doriath, would have minded, and Nerwen was happy Ingoldo did not.

It was, however, also why she was caught completely by surprise one day when her brother found her in the halls of Thousand Caves – it was late evening and she had just returned form another long walk among the trees with Celeborn – and said: "I am going to build a city like this."

"What?" His sister said, rather undignified.

"I have had a desire to build some well fortified city for quite some time now," he replied, taking her hand and leading her to his chambers, "ever since that dream."

"Yes, I know," she nodded. She thought it a very sound idea – the peace could not last, as she had been telling everyone in the Noldorin councils for years now, without any visible effect. "But why a city like this one?"

"Because it is perfect for defence!" Ingoldo said with enthusiasm. "A city hidden in caves – you cannot come in by any other way than by the door, and that can easily be well guarded, and we can make the admission road difficult as well – no bridge like here. I mean, Elwë can afford it, he has Queen Melian's protection around his entire realm, but without it, we have to make it more difficult...to prepare for harder times..." They reached the door to his rooms and he paused as he opened it. Once they were inside, he headed to the chairs by the fireplace and continued: "I mentioned my general plans to our great-uncle, and he gave me leave to settle in Beleriand and recommended me an area not far from here. Because I have another reason for this, my dear sister, one that I have not told you of: I want to be at hand for you."

Galadriel walked to where he sat and stood above him, pressing his hand, trying to ignore the bitterness she felt at her brother having leave to settle in a place which would have ensured she could have a realm of her own, had it been offered to _her_. To Ingoldo, it would be just a nicer place to rule. To her, it would have been everything. Aloud, she only said: "Tol Sirion is not far from here."

He shook his head and tugged at her hand to make her sit. "It is not simply about distance. It is a long way through unprotected lands to Tol Sirion – remember that Brethil is not included in the Girdle of Melian. I want to have a realm that will share borders with Doriath, so that when you come to visit me, you can do so in complete safety, and alone if you wish to."

Nerwen was simultaneously touched and a little irritated at her brother's usual overprotectiveness. "How does such a vast land go together with the tight protection you have planned?" She asked with a smile.

"In these days of peace, I can afford to control vast lands and clear them from the Enemy's creatures. When the darker days you keep foretelling – and I sense them too – come, we will be able to pull back to safety," he explained, gesticulating vividly with his hands.

She nodded. "That _is_ a good plan," she said. "So tell me, where is the lands to be?"

He rose and rummaged at his desk for a while, bringing back a map and putting it on her lap. "The city would be on Narog, where it goes through Taur-en-Faroth," he said, pointing.

Nerwen stared. "So far south?"

"Why are you so alarmed, dear sister?" He asked with a smile, sitting back down.

"It is very far from our brothers and uncle, in case you needed help," she pointed out. "And also..."

"Yes?"

"I had hoped all of my friends would be in the North," she admitted, "so that when I returned home, I would find you all there. But now you will be in a different realm altogether, and far."

He reached out to squeeze her knee lightly. "As to the first, I am confident that with our uncle's leave, I will have enough Elves to defend the lands I want to defend. As to the second, do not worry – it will be many years until the city is ready, and before it is, I will be often in Doriath, asking for advice and craftsmen. Afterwards, it will be up to you to decide where you want to spend your time, but I can promise you a place by my side as the lady of the new realm whenever you do come."

She pressed the hand he kept on her knee, grateful and aware at the same time that he brother did not realize that that was not what she wanted. He thought he was fulfilling her wish of a realm of her own, or as close to it as possible, while this was perhaps further from it than her house in Hithlum. Lately, the differences between them were felt less, but now it opened again like a chasm before her. She did not say anything, however, merely asked: "And Tol Sirion?"

He sat back in his chair. "I will leave it to Artaresto."

Nerwen had another opportunity to stare. "To Artaresto?" She asked. "Why?"

"Well, I had considered Aikanáro, but I do not think it would be wise to let him rule without the calming influence of Angaráto."

She thought about this. "You are probably right," she conceded, "but perhaps you could send Aikanáro and Artaresto to Tol Sirion? Angaráto and Eldalótë would be fully able to rule Dorthonion..."

"And do you believe Artaresto would be forceful enough to curb Aikanáro's wilder ideas?" Ingoldo asked with raised eyebrows.

"Angaráto is not forceful either," Nerwen pointed out.

"True, but it is still something different to hear criticism of your suggestions from your older brother and from your nephew who is not even half a millenium old."

As if you would know, she thought. Aloud, she said: "And yet you think that nephew is ready to rule a land on his own."

Her brother shrugged languidly. "I will leave some of my advisers with him, and I will install him there while I build my new city, during which time I will still be coming back and teaching him. I believe he can learn."

Galadriel sighed. This was, of course, a bone of contention between them. Ingoldo was convinced that wisdom was all that mattered in a ruler, she thought a degree of fire and strength was needed as well, especially in hard times like these. Artaresto did have a degree of stubbornness deep inside – more of it than his father, in fact – but it only came to the surface in the matters that he considered absolutely crucial. "I hope you will leave him the sort of advisers he needs, at least," she said.

He smiled. "Well, you can always visit him." He considered. "Yes, perhaps you should travel north all the same."

She looked at him in some astonishment. "Brother, Itarillë, Findekáno and Ñolofinwë live in the North, apart from all my other friends and kin. Of course I would have to go North."

He sighed. "I wish I could simply ask them all to come to my realm, when you want to see them. I do not like the idea of you travelling though unprotected lands without your brothers."

At this, she laughed incredulously. "Do you think me defenceless?"

"No. But all of us would give our lives to protect you; without us, who will give their life?" He knew as well as she did Celeborn was unlikely to be travelling with her every time.

Her laughed disappeared, and she rose to embraced him awkwardly, standing above him. "I swear I will be careful," she said after she let him go. "I will take large entourages with me."

"Do," he said, taking a hold of her hand when she made to return to her chair. "That is another reason I want my new realm to be safe and close – such journeys requite time and preparation. If you are ever unhappy here, I want you to have the possibility to simple flee at a moment's notice, directly to me, without hesitation. You mean the world to me, sister."

Galadriel tightened the embrace, feeling guilty, as she often did, for loving others more than her brother.

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She sought out Celeborn the next day, after the morning meal, and walking among the trees, she told him what she learned from her brother the previous evening.

He smiled. "Your brother doesn't seem to trust me much."

She shook her head. "Rather, I think it's because he knows of my...objections to your king. He's aware it could become difficult for me to stay in his court, and is offering me an easy way out."

"And what happens to me in this scenario?" He asked archly.

"My brother would welcome you, of course, but I think he isn't sure you'd want to come." She shrugged. "And in any case it'd only be for a short time, just for me to have a small reprieve."

"Why do you expect King Elu's company could become so hard to bear? Is it only because of the way he treats his wife?"

She sighed. "No." How to explain? "He reminds me of Feanor sometimes, in some ways," she said simply.

He pulled away. "Isn't that a little harsh?"

Of course, her half-uncle was just the murderer from her stories to Celeborn. She reached out for his hand. "Feanor wasn't always all bad either. At the beginning, he was proud and short-tempered, yes, but not truly fell. He darkened only with time. I fear the same might happen to your king, though Lady Melian may prevent it, of course. But Feanor would never have turned wholly bad if that which he loved wasn't taken from him. It's mainly if something like this happened that I can imagine a dark fate for Elu."

Celeborn's forehead creased with worry. "What do you see, Galadriel?"

She sighed. "Only very unclearly, but...Queen Melian will never leave him, and no one has the power to separate them. Lúthien, on the other hand...it's in the nature of things that daughters leave their fathers in time. That is where I sense the danger – when she falls in love."

"But surely if it was true flame of the One, he wouldn't..." Celeborn said hopefully.

Galadriel almost laughed. "Yes, if – but unfortunately, there hasn't been a way invented yet to tell from the outside, and so this is the question fathers all around Arda ask themselves when their daughters fall in love, and the excuse they use if they don't want to give consent to the marriage...what if it isn't real? I've seen it too many times in Noldorin courts, and I used to have understanding for it. Now, I have very little left. If they trust their daughters only a little, they know they'd be able to tell – after all, the fathers have felt it themselves, and know it's unmistakeable. Before I felt the Flame myself, I thought it was perhaps unclear and difficult to decipher, but it isn't."

Celeborn smiled. "But then your inner sight is very clear."

Galadriel stayed serious. "All of the daughters always said the same thing: that they were certain. None of them admitted any doubts, and I saw into their hearts – they weren't lying. I think it's part of the nature of the Flame, that when you clear all obstacles from its way, it burns so brightly it can't be mistaken for anything else, and nothing else is similar to it."

Her betrothed considered this. "It's true that before you told me of the tragedies in Aman, I wasn't sure if it was merely an admiration I felt for you, similar to what I've felt for others, or something else. After, it became completely obvious. So I believe you're right after all, my lady – but perhaps the fathers do not know that."

"They don't want to know it," Galadriel said irritably. "There've been nine cases in the last six years, up in the North, and always I came forward with this argument...and always they refused to listen. It's not only the lovers' heart that can be clouded into not seeing the truth."

Celeborn pressed her hand in hope of giving comfort. "Let's hope, then, that when this happens, Queen Melian will clear our king's sight."

"Yes, that is where I draw hope from as well."

They headed back to Thousand Caves, for they had promised to meet Celeborn's family for midday meal. Galadriel had spoken to his parents only once since her engagement, and relatively briefly, to receive congratulations and agree on the wedding date and place. Now Lady Ernil had apparently made them agree on a meal together, and Nerwen was rather curious about how it would turn out, with so many people who preferred solitude gathered together.

They entered Prince Elmo's chambers, where the meal was to take place, and were welcomed by his wife. "Oh, you're here, good," she said. "Gilernil and Aelon arrived as well, I didn't dare to hope they'd come..."

Galadriel, too, was astonished. She had not met Celeborn's other grandparents yet – they lived in north Neldoreth and rarely came to Thousand Caves.

Lady Ernil ushered the engaged couple inside the sitting room and took care of the introductions. "I have heard," Lord Aelon said after that was done, "that you're a friend to our princess. Do you accompany her to the forest?"

"I do. It'd be difficult being fer friend and not doing that," Galadriel said with a small smile.

"Quite," Lord Aelon replied like Lúthien was not something he was interested in discussing at all. "She goes to Neldoreth often, doesn't she?"

"Oh, yes, I believe it's her favourite part of Doriath."

"And yours?" He asked sharply, and Galadriel realized they have arrived at the heart of the matter.

She hesitated. "It's...hard for me to choose in such a way. I think I like particular places, a bend in a riven, a clearing..."

"But surely you know if you prefer beech trees to holly trees?" He sounded almost irritable now.

"Oh hush," Lady Gilernil spoke for the first time, quietly. "One can love the entire realm without preference, can one not?"

"Certainly," Nerwen replied, thrown a little off balance by this entire conversation.

"It'd be much nicer in this kingdom if more did, in fact," Celeborn's mother joined them. "I've heard the Ents had to deal with a disrespectful border guard once again. I don't understand how someone who lives in a woodland realm can have so little regard for the actual trees that make up the forest!"

"Well, my dear," Lady Ernil said in a tone of patience worn thin, "this land needs to be protected from dangers rather more grim than some broken branches, so..."

"Surely it's not too much to ask to-"

Galadriel withdrew from that conversation, to find Celeborn and Prince Elmo talking quietly to the side. Celeborn's father sat a short distance from them, with a look in his eyes that said his mind wandered somewhere quite different and he did not wish to be disturbed, so Galadriel joined her betrothed instead.

"Are they arguing again?" Prince Elmo asked with a small smile.

"Well..." Galadriel hesitated.

Celeborn laughed. "You don't have to be afraid of saying it how it is," he said. "Grandmother Ernil and Mother can rarely go without arguing at least once when they are in a room – their political opinions are very different. There's no bad blood, though, don't worry. As for grandfather Aelon, well, he has the habit of rubbing everyone the wrong way, but I'd expect grandmother Gilernil to...ah, yes, here she comes."

Lady Gilernil disentangled herself from the conversation and joined them. "I apologize," she said, in the direction of Galadriel.

Before the Noldorin lady could reply, Prince Elmo said: "Gilernil, dear, there's no reason to. I know my wife and your daughter enough to know it was mainly their work. Come sit with us and tell us the news of Neldoreth."

They talked quite pleasantly of the forest in spring, with niphredil in bloom and tree leaves green, for a long while before the rest of the family rejoined them.

"I apologize," Lady Ernil said quietly to Galadriel, unknowingly echoing Celeborn's other grandmother. "I swear my son's wife brings out the worst in me. It's opinions like hers that make it impossible to push any sensible options through in the king's council."

"Are you on the council, then?" Galadriel asked, surprised.

Lady Ernil laughed at that. "No, of course not. I thought you knew our king? My husband is, though, and we agree on most things – except how often his brother is truly insufferable. More often than not, however, he's the lonely voice of reason there."

"Truly? What does he promote, then? Who is the opposition?" Strangely enough, she had never talked about the politics of Doriath with anyone before – Lady Melian, in spite of being the Queen, was hardly concerned about it, and there were always other things to talk about with Celeborn.

"Well, we are close to Beleg, the Chief Marchwarden," Lady Ernil replied, and when Galadriel did not look like that helped her at all, she elaborated: "We believe that the best defence of this realm is sometimes offence as well, not allowing the Enemy to gain strength. However, the King is surrounded by people like Saeros, who insist that our first duty is to protect people inside Doriath and we cannot afford to deflect any resources to anything else, and those of Gelvil's way of thinking, who seem to believe plants are more important than Elves and any operation that would be a danger to them has to be stopped. Fortunately Galadhon could not be persuaded to care about politics for a kingdom, so at least I'm spared the indignity of having to set my husband against our son in the councils."

Galadriel was so interested in the topic that she had not noticed that Celeborn had started listening to his grandmother halfway through. "My father mightn't have been so averse to politics if it didn't mean being torn between his wife and mother," he said now with a smile. "I know I certainly find it difficult to keep to my middle ground, and that's one reason I'm glad I was never offered a place in the council."

"Beloved," Lady Ernil said with an ironic smile, "not being in the council keeps you away from politics about as much as it does me."

Celeborn laughed, and Galadriel contentedly thought that there would certainly be enough things to keep her occupied in Doriath in years to come.

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AN: I swear I didn't intend to turn Celeborn's family into a comic relief Thanksgiving dinner kind of thing. It just happened.


	12. Joy

AN: Sorry for being late with this. RL got in the way, as it is wont to do.

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 **Chapter 12: Joy**

 _Year 53 of the Sun, Hithlum_

Celeborn was approaching through the hills that guarded the entrance to her house, and as he did, Nerwen feasted on the way afternoon sun shone in his silver hair, and in the feeling of his mind approaching. She reached for him, and through his eyes, she saw her home like never before. She had, after all, overseen its construction and remembered it as a mere wooden shack, whereas he now laid eyes on it for the first time when it was completed, and in its full beauty.

She felt his amazement at the many terraces cut into the mountain, and at the carved columns covered by all sorts of creeping flowers. Not many plants could flourish this far north, but those that could grew here, in flowerbeds arranged in incredible shapes along the road by which he was approaching, and she could feel his eyes linger on them in admiration. But then he noticed her standing on the lowest terrace, leaning on the railing, and his eyes never left her from that moment until he reached her.

"Welcome, my lord, to my home," she said.

"My lady," he replied, "your house is beautiful, and truly you're the crown of all its beauty, part of it as naturally as the flowers that bloom on its terraces. For the first time I fully understand the sacrifice you're making for me, and I feel like a villain. This land is where you belong, just as I belong in the forest. How can I take this from you? And I fear, seeing your home, that you'll not be happy in mine. I can offer you carved halls and tall trees, but not the wide open sky you have here, and not a house of your own like this. I didn't know, or didn't realize, and I'm sorry."

"Don't worry, my lord," she replied, "I knew, and I still made my choice. You do trust me, don't you?"

"Yes, but now I ask myself: why haven't I offered the same to you? I promised to give you everything and more, and yet I couldn't even abandon the forest where I was born."

"It may yet come to that, my lord. But don't despair now – our wedding approaches, and surely that is time to be joyous?" She took his hands. "This is my decision, Lord Celeborn," she said with emphasis. "Don't attempt to pretend you made it for me. Had I thought I had more right to stay in my own home, I wouldn't have given in."

He kissed her hand, his conscience somewhat satisfied, and allowed her to welcome his entourage and show him the house.

There, his disquiet returned. The upper floors were her personal apartment, not very surprisingly, and bellow that were guest rooms and dinning halls and music rooms and parlours and libraries, but in the lowest levels, he was surprised to find many rooms for the sick. "There's much I don't know about you, my lady," he said.

"In the end, they'll be the hardest to leave," she admitted, "though healing was never truly my passion. But my advice can be given over distance, after a fashion – my healing touch can't. I tried to teach those who will stay here as much as I can of my art, but I'm not Lady Estë, and they, as immodest as it sounds, aren't me. It pains me to know that I helped to heal here, while in Doriath, next to Lady Melian, I'll be useless – and also Doriath hardly ever has any injuries, given the Queen's protection."

"What use am I in the halls of Thousand Caves!" Celeborn cried in that moment. "I'm not even part of the king's council. Yet you give advice and heal here, and you have a great house built to your liking. How can you be willing to leave with me?"

"Because I saw Doriath as my home away from home even before I fell in love with you; but you're a stranger here, and I can see that while you admire it, you miss the trees. I don't deny that it pains my heart to leave what I have here – but it'd pain yours more to leave the forest now. And don't undervalue the role you have there, I know well that you do much at court. Have hope, instead, that one day, when the shadow passes, we'll live in a realm where we both can have what is closest to our heart."

"You believe the shadow will pass?" He asked, surprised.

"Not by our own power. True hope lies beyond the coast, but whether the help will come or not, I don't know. Not for a long time, that much is certain. But let's not speak of evil when we have peace now. Come, I'll show you what I have in my painting gallery."

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After he saw her home in its entirety, Galadriel took Celeborn to her private dining room, where the impatient Itarillë was waiting.

"My lord Celeborn," his bride to be said, "allow me to introduce you my first cousin once removed, and dearest friend, Princess Idril Celebrindal of Nevrast, daughter of our prince Turgon and granddaughter of Golfin, the High King of the Noldor in Middle-Earth. Idril, meet my husband to be, Lord Celeborn of Doriath, son of Galadhon and grandson of Elmo, and great-nephew of Elu Thingol, the High King of the Sindar."

They bowed to each other, and then Celeborn smiled. "It's a good thing the descendants of Finwe are all so well-educated, and so obliging in allowing their names to be translated as well," he said. "I'd feared I'd have to attempt to speak in Quenya."

She smiled back. "Don't attempt to convince me, my lord, that the translation would have been an insurmountable problem for you. I'll believe many things about my beloved cousin, but not that she'd choose someone illiterate."

That sat down to dinner, and Nerwen observed: "It's mostly me who's so obliging with translating the names, to be honest. Idril cooperated, but no matter how many times have I told my uncle that I'd like to have his official Sindarin name for his introduction, he was unable to settle on one. So I made the choice for him." She smiled. "As for what Idril sad, I'm not sure how much choice had to do with it, really. The One can be quite insistent, I found."

"I don't know whether to be offended or flattered by this," Celeborn remarked.

"I'd just take it at face value," Itarillë replied. "My cousin would never have decided on her own that she was satisfied with someone, so it's for the best that Eru's flame intervened, really."

"Have you and my brothers teamed up against me?" Nerwen asked conversationally.

"No, they just know you well, my lady," Celeborn replied good-humouredly. "And I understand: I wouldn't have been satisfied with myself either, so I simply have to give thanks to Eru for his insistence."

"Don't encourage her!" Itarillë cried. "Otherwise she will get even worse."

"You grow progressively more impertinent with my approaching departure," the lady of the house noted.

That reminder turned Itarillë immediately serious. "I have to laugh," she said, "otherwise I'd have to cry."

"I feel I owe you an apology," Celeborn turned to her. "You, more than any of the others. I apologize for robbing you of your dearest friend."

Itarillë smiled again. "You can never do that," she said. "It'd take more than simply marriage to break the friendship between us."

Celeborn merely bowed to that.

Itarillë tactfully left them alone as soon as they were done eating, and Galadriel turned to her betrothed with a question in her eyes. "I see why you love her," he replied, "and I can imagine growing to love her too. It's a pity her father is so very attached to her – pity for us, that is – or I'd not hesitate to ask her to come and live with us."

Galadriel pressed his hand in gratefulness.

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The following day, Findekáno appeared in Nerwen's house to meet his cousin's future husband. This time, the greeting was even more formal, taking place in her receiving room. She rose when her friend approached, and he inclined his head to her. She introduced Celeborn, and after another dignified nod, she turned to him and, gesturing with her hand to the visitor, said: "My cousin Fingon, called the Valiant, prince of Dor-Lómin and son of Golfin, the High King of the Noldor in Middle-Earth. And, also," she added and smiled, "the one who has been the closest to my heart through all years of my life."

Celeborn bowed lower, as was due to the heir of a high kingship, and Galadriel led the way to one of her comfortable drawing rooms. "I think my father's finally settled on a Sindarin name," Findekáno said on the way. "Fingolfin."

Nerwen raised her eyebrows. "Fingolfin? That sounds like the sort of thing my other uncle would do..."

Findekáno grimaced, and she gave him an apologetic look.

Once they were all seated, Itarillë noted idly: "We have to settle this between ourselves, Uncle: she called me her dearest friend, and you, the one closest to her heart. So who wins, what do you think?"

"I don't know, I'm sure. I'm still getting over the surprise of not being challenged to a duel by Celeborn after she called me that," Findekáno said with a laugh.

"Even if I was actually desirous of visiting the Halls of Mandos," Celeborn replied, "I'd certainly choose a different time than just prior to my wedding to do the deed."

"Is skill in fight not one of your strengths?"

"Oh no, I'm good enough. But if what we heard in Doriath is true, there aren't many in Middle-Earth who could face you in a duel and live to tell the tale."

Findekáno only smirked to that, and Nerwen said: "To borrow a phrase from Idril, don't encourage him, or he'll be even worse. His head could get so big the crown wouldn't fit it, and then what would we do?"

"I sincerely hope I'll never have to bear it," Findekáno said seriously, and continued in a lighter vein: "If you want to change the topic, you have to answer Idril's question. What does your phrasing indicate?"

"If you must know, I meant that I hold Idril in most esteem, and your are the one who is most like me."

"That," he said, half serious, half joking, "is the biggest compliment you've ever paid me."

She shook her head: "When Finrod threatened me he'd warn Celeborn off, I didn't imagine he'd sink so low as to ask for your help."

"Sink so low? You hurt my royal honour, cousin. Besides, you know he'd never have the heart to go through with it."

"Now I know why they call you valiant," Celeborn noted.

"You mean you didn't know before?" Findekáno asked, mock-offended.

"Venturing to Angband alone might seem impressive, but it pales in comparison with irritating Lady Galadriel."

"You stumbled upon the only answer that might save you from that duel."

"He just wants to define it in such a way that it fits him, too," Galadriel commented.

"Careful, dearest, or you will do my and Finrod's job for us."

Celeborn smiled at that. "Don't worry, my lord. Valiant isn't the title I aspire to."

"What is, then? Wise?" Itarillë enquired, turning serious.

"Maybe," he said, though it didn't seem it was what he was thinking of either.

"That one's not worth much," Galadriel muttered. "I heard someone call Turgon that way." Then she shot a guilty glance in Itarillë's direction, who just rolled her eyes.

"I'm surprised they'd do it in your hearing," Findekáno returned.

She shrugged. "I don't make my reservations about your brother as plain to everyone as I do to you. Indeed, I've been trying to hold back with Idril, even. But I don't believe I fooled her for a second."

"No, though I still prefer when you don't speak of it in front of me. It puts me in a difficult position."

Galadriel exchanged a glance with Celeborn – it was much like with him and Elwë. She sighed. "I'm glad I have you," she told Findekáno.

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Findekáno stayed with them the whole day, and in the afternoon, even the king himself came for a short visit. He was received with as much honours as could be given in such informal circumstances, and after presenting Celeborn with all his titles once more, Galadriel turned to him and said simply: "And I want you to meet Fingolfin, the High King of all the Noldor in the Middle-Earth and my uncle, who's been like a father to me in many ways, through my life."

Celeborn bowed deep, and the king approached him and put a hand on his shoulder. "Lord Celeborn," he said, "I'm glad to finally meet one of King Elu's family, and on such a joyous occasion too. Come, let's be done with formalities and let's talk – I don't have much time to spare, unfortunately."

They returned to the room they had been sitting in before, and Itarillë saw it as an opportunity to reopen the previous topic. "We'd been arguing with Fingon," she said, "about which of us has been awarded a more honourable title – me, who Galadriel called her dearest friend, or him, who she calls the one closest to her heart. Now you're said to be like a father to her, which complicates matters – where does it put you?"

"Since, in my experience, my fatherly role has consisted mostly of giving advice only to be explained why they were wrong, I imagine it would be bellow all of you."

"You are being too hard on me, uncle," Nerwen defended herself.

"Too hard on myself, if something. Even though I'd been simplifying, of course – I discounted all of the times you gave good advice to me."

"You'll make me blush!"

"There's a first time for everything, apparently." He smiled at her. "I'll miss you, beloved. No one here, not even your eldest brother, can put quite as much emphasis on the Middle-Earth in my title."

This time Galadriel did blush. "I mean no slight, I just..."

"I know, and I certainly don't begrudge my brother his title. We all should honour him as much as we can, when we don't know when we'll see him again, if at all."

There was a short silence, then Celeborn asked carefully: "How much seriousness was in your remark about advices? I know from Galadriel that her voice is heard in your councils, but I didn't imagine it'd extend beyond that..."

"I'd say it's the other way round – in the councils, her role isn't as great as it could be, because many of my nobles aren't wise enough to accept her advice. I hope I am and always will be, however, and in private, I've much relied on her words ."

"I really think you are exaggerating, uncle," Nerwen muttered.

Ñolofinwë raised his eyebrows. "Am I? One example that comes to mind is when my late half-brother drew his sword on me in Tirion, and you advised me to make peace with him."

"So did my father..."

"But I'd have not listened to him if it wasn't for you."

"...and knowing what we know now, do you still believe it was a good advice?"

"Oh, yes," her uncle said emphatically. "You didn't advice me to swear the oath to follow him where he led, remember, that was my own impulsiveness speaking."

"Would you have stayed, without the oath?"

He sighed heavily. "No," he admitted. "And there, again, it was your advice that was crucial."

"Please don't tell me you'd have stayed in Aman if I'd said nothing, because if so, I'll never forgive myself."

Ñolofinwë frowned. "Beloved, do you truly believe it was wrong I went?"

"Any one life that is here instead of in Aman because of me, that had to suffer the Ice because of me...I feel remorse about it," Nerwen replied.

"Do you believe it would have been better had I left all of my people to Feanor?"

"Many of them wouldn't have gone without you."

"Yes, but the majority still would have."

"And which has more value, those lives we destroyed by pulling them with us, or those we saved by giving them a better leadership?"

Celeborn interrupted the spirited discussion here. "You don't decide this," he said. "And not only which has more value – more importantly, you don't decide the fates of the world. You are responsible for your decisions only, and the reasons for them. Had you stayed to keep some of them with you, it'd have been a good decision, but it doesn't follow that going because you want to protect your people from an insane king is a bad one. And what those others did was their choice, not yours, and the One decides which way the fate will go. Don't take too much upon yourself."

Ñolofinwë gave Celeborn a long look, and then turned to Nerwen and said: "You chose well, my beloved."

She, however, averted her gaze and said: "But I didn't go because I wanted to protect my people."

Here, Celeborn took her hand and kissed it. "I know why you went," he said, "and though it might be less admirable in the eyes of the One, it's one of the reasons I love you."

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The week passed pleasantly, with Itarillë and Findekáno and occasional visits from the king. It was a good thing the Enemy did not have very good spies, otherwise he could have used this opportunity for an attack, since most great captains of the Noldor were now coming to Hithlum to the wedding of their princess.

The relaxed atmosphere was marred somewhat by the arrival of more guests, Turukáno and Irissë among them, a week after Celeborn.

The white lady took the first opportunity to tell Galadriel, once they were alone: "I would have expected you to find a husband among our own kind."

Galadriel raised an eyebrow. "None of the Noldorin lords could satisfy me."

Irissë curled her lip in response. "And this one does?"

"His name is Lord Celeborn, and yes, entirely so, thank you for asking."

Irissë shook her head uncomprehendingly. "You will live in a Sindarin land, and Elwë will be your king!"

Galadriel sighed. The problem with Irissë, she thought, was that while she was insufferable, she was not stupid, and she was not so very unlike herself in some ways. Though both tried to deny it vigorously most of the time, on some levels they understood each other very well. "That is why I arranged it with Celeborn immediately at the beginning that I will be travelling a lot."

Irissë snorted. "Perhaps I should get married too."

It was certainly likely she would be able to convince any husband she might take to give her more freedom with less objections than Turukáno gave her now, with the same degree of adoration.

"I am afraid that if no one caught your attention until now, there is a good chance you will fall for someone who would require you to live under the Sindarin king, too," Nerwen pointed out.

"As long as I can pass most of my time wandering through the country, I do not care one whit." She seemed to contemplate the idea. "Yes, perhaps you are right – one should branch out a little. I might even come to visit you in Doriath one day."

Oh, Valar help me, Galadriel thought, what have I done?

Turukáno was less unpleasant to be around than his beloved sister, and he was not prejudiced against the Sindar. He had but single worry, and upon hearing it, Galadriel was quite touched, because he said: "With your absence, cousin, I fear wisdom will become lacking in my father's councils."

She turned her surprised eyes to him, and he, reading their expression, smiled slightly and commented: "I do not share your view of the world, or your nature, but that does not mean I discount your wisdom. Or do you discount mine?"

Galadriel had probably never been as ashamed of herself before, during her entire long life. "Sometimes," she admitted quietly.

He sighed. "Perhaps I deserve it," he observed.

"I do not believe so," she replied. He might well deserve some criticism, but not as much as she tended to direct at him. "Just – I am too convinced of my own truth, cousin, and I am afraid that in Doriath, I will become even more so."

"You should trust Celeborn a little more," he replied simply, and she wondered if those two had been talking to each other while she was busy elsewhere, and what had been said.

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Among the last guests from Galadriel's side to arrive were Maitimo and Macalaurë, the only two of Fëanáro's people she actually invited. Aware of the potentially disastrous turn the situation could take, she welcomed them outside her house. However, after briefly greeting her, Maitimo demanded to be taken to her betrothed. Truly nervous – something that happened to her very rarely – she obeyed her guest's wishes.

Celeborn knew who was to come, and so when Galadriel entered his room with two noble elves by her side, the face he turned to them was like made of stone.

For a beat, they only looked at each other, then both brothers fell to their knees in front of the surprised – though he masked it well – Sindarin lord.

"You're the first of the people we wronged so greatly we meet who knows about our crime," Maitimo spoke, "even though divided by the sea from them, and so this is our first opportunity to beg forgiveness. Me and my brother both admit to spilling blood of your relations in Alqualondë, and we wish to express our remorse."

In a voice cold like the depth of the Ice, Celeborn asked: "And if I demanded your death?"

The brothers exchanged a look. "I'm afraid I couldn't submit myself to such punishment," Maitimo replied, "because I have some responsibility towards my own people. And I'd certainly not allow my younger brother to be treated thus."

"What kind of penance is this, then when you consider yourself above punishment?"

Maitimo looked him in the eye again, and Celeborn could suddenly see all of the pain the red-headed Noldo suffered in his life. "Don't consider us unpunished," he said. "Our doom weights heavily on us, more heavily than on our other relations. Our realms aren't happy ones."

"And it's not that we're unwilling to show any sign of our regret," Macalaurë added. "My brother has binding responsibilities, but I offer myself at your service. I'm willing to accompany you where you say and do what tasks you tell me to, as a mark of my penance."

Maitimo gave his brother an astonished look. Clearly, they had not agreed on this part in advance.

Celeborn heaved a great sight. "Then I'll not wish you ill, and I won't make use of your services – as long as you fight the enemy, that's the best thing you can do, anyway. But I'll not grant you forgiveness either. It isn't in my power, and murder isn't something to be forgiven easily. Rise now, though, and enjoy yourself in the celebrations. I can't give you forgiveness, but I can withhold my anger."

The brothers rose and left the room. Galadriel stopped only long enough to exchange a long look with her husband to be, and then she followed her guests outside to a terrace. "Thank you," she said when she approached them.

"It was not enough," Macalaurë replied.

"No, but it was something, and it was more than your father would have done."

"Is your betrothed grateful, too?" Maitimo asked bitterly.

"Appreciative, I would say. You did not believe it would be as easy as him simply embracing you as brothers, did you?"

Maitimo sighed. "Believe? No. Hope? Yes. Absolution is something I have desire for so long now...and the knowledge that I shall never have it is eating me alive."

"It is what Findekáno gave you, when he cut you away from that rock."

"You cannot receive absolution from one who took part in the crime, Artanis. You know that. Findekáno forgave me because he bears similar burdens. Those who do not never will."

Galadriel had no answer for that.

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The day before the wedding, Celeborn and his entourage left to meet with the rest of his wedding guests. It had been a significant break with the Sindarin tradition to have him there the last fortnight, but even though Galadriel liked the symbolism of the incoming party truly arriving on the day of the wedding, and that was why they decided to take this part from the Sindarin customs, she did not let it overshadow the more important wish to give her family enough time to meet him.

Now, however, he went to spend the night with his own kin, and she readied herself surrounded by hers. And the following day, when the sun reached the peak of its daily journey, she stepped onto the highest terrace of her house.

She could see Celeborn in the distance, the imposing silver figure, followed by his complete entourage. He approached as she descended the stairs of her house, her own people coming out after her.

He was a vision, all glittering in the midday sun, a contrast to her red and gold. Her heart was filled to bursting with joy and pride in this moment, and once again, she reached out for his mind. There, she discovered admiration, and she saw herself through his eyes, an undisputed queen that, had she wanted, could have ruled the whole world, made it hers by a twist of her will. She saw that he felt like an unworthy outcast who set his eyes on the highest prize of all, and so she pressed her own vision of him in return, the calm force that was coming towards her like the tide of the ocean, slow but unstoppable.

His self-doubt chased away, she basked in his love as she descended the terraces of her house, the silk of her dress whispering about her. There was a love poem in Quenya embroidered on the dress with a gold thread, but now the time came for speaking of it aloud. She reached her betrothed, took his hands and spoke, her voice firm and clear: "Celeborn, son of Galadhon, I take you as my husband, from this day till the end of the world. I swear before Manwë and his winds, Varda and her stars, Ulmo and his seas, Yavanna and her trees, Aule and his mountains, Nienna and her grief and Námo and his wisdom, I swear before Eru Illúvatar himself, that I will never abandon you in my heart or in my deeds, and I promise you love, respect and loyalty, now and for ever."

As Celeborn repeated his own oath, he could see the memories of Valinor in the eyes of his beloved. When he was reciting names he knew only from stories, she was remembering each and every one of them, and her face filled with such light that only those who came from Aman have.

After they finished, King Ñolofinwë stepped out of the rows of her kin behind her and called: "All hail Lady Galadriel and Lord Celeborn, and may their ages together be hallowed!"

And the hosts called back: "Eru Illúvatar, bless them!"


	13. Happiness

**Chapter 13: Happiness**

 _Year 53 of the Sun, Hithlum_

Galadriel understood, now, why everyone she had consulted insisted they plan to stay at least two months after the wedding before relocating to Doriath.

For the first one, they did not leave the bedroom at all.

She also understood why Melian had warned her about doing anything much beyond chaste embraces and hand kissing. Once the flame was kindled properly, it would have been very hard to stop.

The wedding celebration had gone wonderfully, the feast was magnificent and the dancing glorious. Galadriel basked in the happiness of all her guests, but nothing in her memories could overshadow what came after she finally entered the same bedchamber with Celeborn.

She remembered slowly undressing, taking the jewels off one after the other, remembered letting her hair down and standing there covered only by its waves, and Celeborn's look. He had come to her, then, and kissed her on the lips for the first time, almost reverently at first. But she had no time for reverence, and she took his face between her hands and deepened the kiss, following some old instinct Eru put in their bodies. His hands were around her in an instant, and they were pressing together in a strange sort of desperation, she almost tearing his robe off. And then she felt her naked skin against his for the first time...and it was all fire.

The entire month, in fact, was spent alternating between a fire so bright Nerwen sometimes thought only Lady Arien herself could match it, and quieter, intimate moments when they laid in each others embrace, their minds connected, and whispered sweet words of love. The words of love would then, gradually, turn into a more passionate speech, and the fire would start again.

She first left the bedroom when her need to thank her uncle became too overwhelming. She idly asked the serving girl who brought them dinner if he was present in the house at the moment, but when she found out that yes, he happened to be, she could not resist. Giving Celeborn a lingering kiss, she put on a light dressing gown and headed to the guest quarters.

She found her uncle sitting with Findekáno and Itarillë, and the moment her cousin spied her, he gave her a very bright smile. "So?" He said.

"So I spent a month in the bedroom, what do you think?" She could not help but smile in her reply, however. "Uncle, I wished to talk to you," she said then.

"Of course."

They retreated to a small drawing room and he gave her a questioning look.

"I only wanted to...well, to thank you. For all the advice you have given me."

"But of course. I gather you found it useful, then?"

Her smile broadened. "Very much so." She paused, and chuckled. "Celeborn wished to thank you as well, in fact, given that your advice directly benefited him, but, well, he does not quite know you well enough to discuss something so personal."

"Well, tell him I accept his thanks by proxy. I was glad to help, in the absence of your parents..."

Nerwen shook her head. "Honestly, even had my parents been here, I would have preferred to have this conversation with you. I do not know anything about their intimate life, naturally, but I cannot help feeling that it would be somewhat less...fiery."

"Hm, you may be right there – but then again, you may not. After all, Celeborn does not seem like an overly passionate sort either, and yet from what you hint at..."

She smiled fondly at this. "Oh, but he is. Even outside the marriage bed, I mean. He dislikes it about himself and wishes he were calmer, but when the provocation is enough, he can be very passionate about things."

Ñolofinwë considered this. "Like Angaráto, then?"

"In this, yes, a little," she agreed reluctantly, "though he is different from my brother in other ways, it should be said."

"I know, beloved, do not worry." Her uncle smiled. "So you should not keep him waiting too long, otherwise he might be provoked."

Nerwen smirked in response. "Well, but I want him to be passionate now, do I not?"

But she did return to the bedchamber and made her absence up to Celeborn most diligently. However, the little talk with her uncle reminded her that she would leave her family soon, whereas Celeborn would stay by her side, and so she made herself go and talk to them more and more as time progressed, and he gradually joined her.

And now, the day of her departure came, and it was her sad task to give her farewells to all her family and friends. She stood in a very long embrace with Itarillë, who was clinging to her almost in desperation and clearly trying very hard not to. "You have always been here for me," she said. "My entire life. What am I going to do without you?"

"You are going to be perfectly fine. If there is someone I am not worried about, it is you. You are strong, and you are wise, and I taught you everything I could. And my thoughts will always be with you, beloved, always, and I will come to visit as often as I can."

Itarillë tightened the embrace once more, and then she let her cousin go.

Turukáno came after, and their farewell was much more friendly than Galadriel would have imagined mere ten weeks ago; even Irissë refrained from most of her insufferability on this occasion.

Her goodbyes to her brothers were easier, for she knew that they would visit her in Doriath from time to time, apart from her own visits to them. But then Findekáno stood before her, and Galadriel found herself at a loss for words. To distract herself, she nodded to the golden bands in this hair, ones she had noticed at the wedding already, and since then. "A new fashion?" She asked.

He smiled mildly. "I will wear them in your honour and memory from now on," he said.

Tears welled in her eyes, and she had to blink rapidly to prevent them falling. "Should I get myself some black ones?" She asked.

He laughed. "That would send entirely the wrong message," he noted.

She shook her head. "I cannot possibly express how much I shall miss you."

"I know, Nerwen, I know. You don't have to say a word. I see your heart."

"And I yours."

They held hands and touched foreheads for a while, then he sighed heavily and let her go. For a moment, the pain seemed too big to bear.

Then she noted a hand on her shoulder, and it was the king, giving her strength. "Be happy," he said. Then he smiled and added: "You can look at it as being our long-term envoy to Doriath."

"Valar, no! That would mean I would have to be extremely courteous to every member of the royal family, and that would make it all even harder."

They laughed together and shared an embrace, and then Galadriel straightened, took Celeborn's arm, and together they left the house, all of his kin behind them, on their way to Doriath.

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It could be said Galadriel was happy there. She loved her husband as deeply as one could, and that, of course, would have been quite enough to make her feel almost radiant at times. She could not get enough of the closeness to him that marriage provided, and they spent a significant amount of time in their chambers for months.

Her living conditions were comfortable as well, so there was no source of discontent in that. They were granted a large apartment not far from the royal one, with expertly carved walls and beautifully painted murals. It had been furnished by Queen Melian, and though Galadriel regretted not having the options to do it herself, she had to admit the lady's impeccable taste.

After the initial vigour of her intimacy with Celeborn calmed a little, she started to develop a sort of routine. On a usual day, she spent the mornings with the Queen, afternoons in solitude with book or art or in walks, and evenings in the company of her husband, who was busy most of each day with court politics. Some days they lunched or dined with Prince Elmo and Lady Ernil, and more rarely with Celeborn's parents.

Galadriel tried to become more integrated into the courtly life of Doriath, but it was not easy. She was regarded as an outsider, her golden hair shining among their silver and indicating her foreignness immediately, if the light she carried in her from the West had not been not enough. Those who were more kindly disposed put her, in their minds, in the same category as their Queen and Princess, helped no doubt by the amount of time Galadriel spent with the ladies: good and well-meaning, but very distant and not someone that can be talked to, or interacted with normally. But there were others who resented this marriage of the royal prince, and saw Galadriel as an intruder, as someone who had no place in Thousand Caves, or at least not so very close to the royal family. Saeros was chief among these, of course, he and his followers, and they hardly ever spoke to her beyond the barest greeting. It was only very slowly that she was beginning to do away with this dislike and suspicion, one elf at a time.

And she did feel herself removed from their concerns, interested either in the North, which no one else there was, or in Aman, of which she could only talk with the Queen. Lady Ernil was friendly enough towards her and was willing to share some of her plans – though less so to listen to Galadriel's ideas on them – but Prince Elmo was kind but distant, and then there were many who held, politically, very different opinions from hers and so made court relations complicated. Celeborn's mother was one of such people, of course, and so was Celeborn's brother, even though he showed much less interest in the topic and spent most of his time with his grandparents in Neldoreth or with his mother and the ents.

That was, in fact, where she met him most often, for she sometimes searched out the Shepherds of Trees when she walked in the forest with Celeborn. She liked talking to Treebeard occasionally – it was so very different from talking to anyone else – though she did not, at the same time, fully understand those, like Lady Gelvil or Galathil, who spent so much of their time there. The Shepherds had concerns of their own, and it seemed to Galadriel that they were, by necessity, very removed from the elven ones.

The only one who seemed to truly understand them, in her own special way, was Lúthien. She was never willing to stop by for a short moment with ents when she walked in the forest with Galadriel, but sometimes she could be encountered there by chance, and then, the Nolde knew, it always meant the Princess was spending weeks, listening to the slow speech of the Shepherds.

"But can you speak it?" Nerwen asked, the first time she came across her friend in such a manner.

"No," Lúthien replied, unfazed, "but I can understand it."

She then shooed Galadriel away, saying that she was disturbing everyone, and there was nothing for the Nolde but to return to Thousand Caves with Celeborn, musing about what she saw.

When Lúthien finally returned, many days later, Galadriel did not hesitate to ask about it again. "You never seemed to want to have anything to do with the ents!"

"No, I only never wanted to stop by when you were with me," Lúthien corrected her. "It's senseless to try and visit them in such a hasty manner. You need to have time for them."

Galadriel smiled a little. She hadn't been called hasty since she left Aman, where her father, and sometimes Lord Olórin, were apt to raise that objection against some of her actions. "Is that why Lady Gelvil and Galathil spend so much time with them?"

"I don't know. Perhaps. I never talked to them about it."

"But...they are there so often. Surely, if you go to see the Ents regularly..."

Lúthien gave her a look that seemed to indicate she doubted her sanity. "I go there to see the Ents," she replied, "not my royal relatives. I can see them in Thousand Caves."

"Certainly. And do you talk to them about it here, then?"

Lúthien hesitated. "You know I hardly talk to them."

"Yes. And to be fair, they hardly talk to anyone, but...beloved, surely it cannot be only me and your mother who you talk to when you're in the city? And Daeron," she amended.

"Don't even remind me," Lúthien said with a sigh. She did not spend time with Daeron willingly. Not because she hated him, but because she disliked elves gushing over her, and he was, in this sense, the worst offender. "But not even Galathil is immune, and Lady Gelvil never showed any interest in speaking to me. Lady Ernil does, but our interests are so very disparate we rarely ever have anything to converse about." She smiled. "My uncle is one of those closest to me among the elves, though." Then her smile turned into a smirk, and she added: "And Celeborn has been getting easier to be around, too. Your charm seems to have made him immune to mine."

Galadriel laughed at that. "It's kind of you to say so," she replied, "but I hardly measure up."

"Perhaps not in general," Lúthien replied calmly, "but to him, you certainly do."

These frequent long absences of the princess meant she was not part of of Galadriel's daily routine, but instead, she often interrupted said routine by days long walks with her friend. Lúthien was forever discovering new places she wished her to see in the forest. Galadriel went willingly enough, finding much joy in the beauty the princess showed her, though perhaps not as much as the Sindarin lady herself.

Another distraction was Ingoldo, who came about twice a year and stayed for weeks every time - he would have come more often, she knew, or stayed longer, but he could not leave his construction site abandoned all the time. On those occasions, he consulted her on many matters concerning the city and the best possible layout, and she gave what advice she could. It was not truly her expertise, but she enjoyed having a word in the planning, as she had enjoyed planning her own house those years ago. And, truth be told, it was difficult to get Ingoldo to talk about anything else these days.

It also meant she met the dwarves for the first time, the race about whose skill with the stone she had heard so much, especially from Maitimo. She had heard descriptions, of course, so she knew they were to be short and with hair on their faces, but still, the reality of them was so much stranger than she would have expected. Ingoldo brought a few of the chief architects of his city with him to Menegroth to show them in practice what he wished for, and Galadriel had a hard time ignoring her astonishment at the way they looked...until, that was, she heard them talk.

She grew up a Nolde, and while she had no interest in crafting herself, she had heard enough about it through her life to recognize experts when she saw them, and here were some of the best experts she had ever met standing before her. She waited for a pause in their conversation with Ingoldo, then asked: "Do you know, perhaps, my cousin Maedhros, Lord of Himring?"

They turned to her. "No," the one who appeared to be the eldest and whose name was Fenri answered. "It's the dwarves of Belegost who are friendly with those elves. Why do you ask?"

"My cousin spoke most highly of the art of some dwarven friends of his, so I've wondered if, perhaps, it wasn't you."

"There are many among us skilled in craft," Fenri said simply, and they returned to their conversation with Ingoldo. Galadriel stayed for some time to listen, regretting now that she never contacted dwarves to help with the building of her house, as Maitimo had recommended. Perhaps she could have achieved even greater beauty.

So Ingoldo's dwarven friends were added to her list of distractions, and it soon became his habit to always bring some with him when he came, to discuss jewels and carvings with her and hear, perhaps, some ideas for a work of beauty. She could not create them herself, but she was enough of a Nolde that she could think of them, and always rewarded the dwarves most generously when they returned with just the jewel she had described. As often, however, they brought her a creation wholly of their own, and it was equally beautiful.

Truly, it was all very pleasant, and in some ways, Doriath reminded Galadriel of her years in Aman – she was surrounded by beauty and by people she loved, and yet there was something missing, even apart from her kin. She knew what it was, and mourned the loss in the privacy of her heart. She never truly had it, but she had been much closer to it once than she was now.

Her mind often sought her relations in the North, but as close as their hearts were, it was not easy to discuss war and politics in this way, which was more suited to sharing images and memories. Nevertheless, she did her best, and sometimes when the matter was urgent, she could almost hear the thoughts of those who sought her advice as if they were speaking to her.

She stayed a whole year in Doriath before she returned to Hithlum for the first time. When she went, she went without Celeborn, and spent several months. Turukáno let his daughter go and see her dearest friend once more, and so Nerwen was given the chance to spend all of that time in close company with those who were most important to her outside of Doriath. Beside pure pleasure of their company, it entailed long strategic discussions with Findekáno and Ñolofinwë and much work with the sick who still gathered in her house, now cared for chiefly by others, under Brannor's direction. She found the time to visit the worst injuries at least, and help them with all the art she brought from Valinor.

It became a habit after a time – out of every year, she spent four months in Hithlum. Celeborn sometimes accompanied her, sometimes he did not. He liked her relations, but he never felt at home in the North and soon longed for his forest and wished to return to Doriath. As much as she loved him and missed him when she was with her kin, however, Galadriel hardly ever had this desire. She would have had to spend much longer away from that which attracted her to Thousand Caves not to feel the loss of her older friends keenly.

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It was after some years in Doriath that Nerwen suddenly felt a great alarm from all of her dear ones in the North at once. She was worried and wanted very much to know more details, but knew they did not have the time to communicate with her now. She sought the company of her husband and Lady Melian instead, and in their somewhat calming presence, passed the next several days. She wanted to go North very much, but had to accept that she did not know what the danger was and that it could lay between Doriath and the lands of her relations, and so she waited.

The moment the alarm and fear and anger turned into triumph, her insistent mind called to Findekáno, and he regaled her with visions of the great battle. She had been prepared for this eventuality, and as soon as she was sure it was safely won, she left for Hithlum without hesitation. There were going to be many injured, and her help was needed.

Healing was not the only field in which he gave assistance. Ñolofinwë called a private council, to which only his sons, Maitimo, Galadriel and Ingoldo were invited. Nerwen wished Itarillë had been there too, but knew that wish would not be heard and that her cousin did not particularly desire to be included, so she let it be.

At the beginning, before saying anything else, Ñolofinwë turned to Galadriel and asked: "Have you foreseen something?"

"This is but a faint echo of a warning," she replied. "If we are not foolish, it will be many years yet until we face ruin by the hand of the Enemy. This is a slight reminded not to get too complacent and to remember we are not safe."

She saw the frowns on Findekáno's and Ñolofinwë's faces and sighed slightly. She knew that they did not believe her when she said that all their current prosperity would be brought to ruin one day by the Enemy. Her eyes turned to Turukáno, and she was surprised to see understanding there. Once again, she had underestimated his wisdom.

"So we are safe for now?" Her uncle asked.

"As long as we make ourselves safe," she replied. "For now, we can still do so; the day will come when all our best efforts will not be enough against him."

"We need better defensible lands," Turukáno stated. "Hithlum is too open, and it is impossible to keep it defended indefinitely."

That was the Turukáno Galadriel knew. He was not wrong, strictly speaking, but it was the kind of approach she could simply not get behind. And neither, of course, could the king and his eldest son. Or Maitimo. "Go hide somewhere if you want," he said, "my brothers and I will continue defending these open lands."

"We will not abandon that where we made home," Ñolofinwë shook his head. "No, we have to simply strengthen our border guards."

"Turukáno is right that the borders are very wide," Galadriel said slowly. "In fact, those of Angamando are markedly shorter..."

"What are you thinking?" Findekáno asked, curious.

"It would a very unpleasant duty, of course," she said, "but what if, instead of strengthening our border guards, we would encircle the lands of the Enemy?"

"You want to lay siege to Angamando?" Ñolofinwë asked incredulously. That was very unlike his niece.

"No – I do not want us to really attempt to break inside. Merely prevent anything getting out."

"It makes more sense when it comes to number of soldiers we have," Ñolofinwë admitted. "But could our people take it?"

"They are the Noldor," Findekáno said firmly. "They passed through the Ice. Of course they can take it."

Ñolofinwë gave a questioning glance to Maitimo, who said: "If you agree to this plan, then we will join you in the endeavour."

The king slowly nodded. "I will have to think though the details," he said, "but it does not seem impossible to put in practice."

The council was dispersed for the day, and Galadriel felt more alive than she had for a some time.

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She stayed in the North her usual four months, helping to prepare the details of the new plan to wage war, planning patrol locations and the necessary number of soldiers, training healers to serve in the rough conditions that would be needed there. Returning to her quietly useless life in Doriath after this was a bit of a shock, but at least she had the memory to live off. Still, Queen Melian noted her upset, and tried to improve her mood by talking about Aman. They dwelt on the beauty of Tirion for some time, and on the high peaks of the Pelóri and the vastness of the land beyond them. But then Lady Melian wished to talk of the sea as it washed the coast of Aman, and Nerwen could not quite hide her pain.

"There's some woe that lies upon you and your kin," the Queen said, giving her a sharp look. "That I can see in you, but all else is hidden from me; for by no vision or thought can I perceive anything that passed or passes in the West: a shadow lies over all the land of Aman, and reaches far out over the sea. Why won't you tell me more?"

Galadriel sighed deeply. She knew the secret could not be kept forever, but she still wished for some time more. "For that woe is past," she replied, "and I'd take what joy is here left, untroubled by memory. And maybe there's woe enough yet to come, though still hope may seem bright." She never liked talking of what her sight told her as certainty in the presence of Lady Melian, even though she did so with everybody else; but surely the Maia saw as much as she did, and more, and likely understood it better. Galadriel disliked making a fool of herself.

Queen Melian gave her a hard look, something that happened rarely enough. 'Do not try to change the topic,' it seemed to say. "I believe not that the Noldor came forth as messengers of the Valar, as was said at first: not though they came in the very hour of our need. For they speak never of the Valar, nor have their high lords brought any message to Thingol, whether from Manwe, or Ulmo, or even from Olwe the King's brother, and his own folk that went over the sea. For what cause, Galadriel, were the high people of the Noldor driven forth as exiles from Aman? Or what evil lies on the sons of Feanor that they are so haughty and so fell? Do I not strike near the truth?"

Galadriel sighed again. Clearly, she would have to say something, as much as she loathed to. Queen Melian was right, of course, the behaviour of the Noldor was highly suspicious. It was also true that most others, apart from her and her brothers and Itarillë, did not like speaking of the Valar. They felt too guilty. Perhaps that was something she could start from? "Near," she said, "save that we weren't driven forth, but came of our own will, and against that of the Valar. And through great peril and in despite of the Valar for this purpose we came: to take vengeance upon Morgoth, and regain what he stole." Some of us, anyway. But Melian knew her personal reasons already.

"What he stole?"

"You have heard of Feanor, and you have heard me say that though prideful and rebellious, he was also the greatest in spirit among us. He made jewels, once, many years ago, that captured the light of the Trees." Galadriel closed her eyes for a moment, remembering her amazement when they were first uncovered, in those still blissful days. "They were things of great beauty, hallowed by Queen Varda herself, and Morgoth set his eyes on them. He came to our king Finwe's house once when Feanor was absent, and he killed the king and took the jewels and destroyed the Trees – but that you know of already. Feanor asked us to go with him to take the jewels – the Silmarils - back and avenge the king, and most of us did."

"Jewels that captured the treelight?" Longing sounded in Lady Melian's voice. "It must have been great beauty indeed."

"It was; the greatest wonder ever created by the Children of the One, I believe."

Melian was silent for a moment, and Galadriel saw that she wished very much she could lay her eyes, at least for a moment, on those memories of the light she once knew. Then she said: "Now much you tell me, and yet more I perceive. A darkness you would cast over the long road from Tirion, but I see evil there, which Thingol should learn for his guidance."

 _Oh, certainly. I do not particularly want to see what kind of guidance it would lend him. Nothing good for my kin would come out of it, at any rate_. "Maybe," she said aloud, "but not of me."

"Your loyalty stays firmly with your father's people, doesn't it?"

"Yes, for they're those - apart from my husband – who are the closest to my heart. But I love you and Lúthien dearly, and so for you I'll say a little more: if I was to give one advice to king Elu, it'd be to beware of some of the sons of Feanor. Maedhros and Maglor have good hearts, though they might be harsh sometimes, but the rest are prideful and hot-headed, and lack compassion; and all of them are bound by a terrible oath to reclaim the Silmarils. They will stop at nothing to regain them, in the end. The rest of the Noldor, I can swear have only the best of intentions towards you. The brothers, I cannot vouch for, not in all circumstances. Go tell this to your king, and let him do with it what he may."

Then, she departed the Queen's company to seek out the trees, and her husband.


	14. Bitterness

I haven't been particularly good at the "updates every Thursday" bit lately, have I? Sorry about that. Hopefully the next one will be on Thursday, but what do I know…

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 **Chapter 14: Bitterness**

 _Year 66 of the Sun, Doriath_

Galadriel was hearing strange rumours lately, rumours that made her uneasy.

Most of them were brought to her ears by Lady Ernil, to whom people came with it because they were used to coming to her with all their worries, and it did not occur to them that her having a grandson married to a Nolde should change it. It was not anything tangible yet, simply talk about some dark deed that lay in Noldorin past. It was true enough, of course, only the hints and suggestions made it seem somehow much more menacing, as a sinister plot instead of a terrible tragedy, and some seemed to imply that there was something dark going on even now – there was one who came directly to Celeborn to suggest that his wife was an attempt by the Noldor to infiltrate the forest realm and that she will be the fifth column of an upcoming attack. It resulted in one of the occasions when the prince did not quite manage to keep his temper.

"You should try to control yourself better, beloved," Lady Ernil told him then. "We don't wish for them to stop telling us of this, do we? Or worse, to start doubting our loyalty."

"Did you expect me not to defend my wife?"

"Well, did it do any good that you defended her?" Lady Ernil smiled. "Your wife, of all people, can take care of herself. You need to take care of politics."

Galadriel rather liked the idea of Celeborn defending her, in fact, even though she did not strictly speaking need it – but rationally, she knew Lady Ernil was right. "Is the king listening to them?" She asked.

"It hasn't quite reached him yet, but if it goes through Saeros, he will. I've tried my best to prevent that from happening, from the word reaching him or any of his circle. If Daeron heard of it, for example, it'd be a disaster. The whole realm would know within days. Fortunately for us, these circles are those that are the least in touch with the outside world. Mablung is the biggest of my worries at the moment – he's not exactly their man, but he's not exactly ours either, and if he heard the smallest indication of this, he wouldn't hesitate to go to the king." Lady Ernil gave Galadriel a sharp look. "It'd help, I think, if you told me the actual truth behind these rumours."

Galadriel sighed. "I don't think I can, my lady. It's a difficult matter to speak about, for me. But..." She hesitated, then sighed again. "Celeborn knows. I extracted a promise from him not to tell anyone, but," she turned to him, "my love, if you judge it wise, tell your grandmother. I leave it up to you. I only ask that you don't do it in my presence. It was hard enough telling you, I don't need to go through it again."

She left them alone after this, to discuss what they needed. From the way Lady Ernil avoided her in the days and weeks that followed, she would have known Celeborn decided to tell her even had he not informed her himself.

Galadriel knew the secret would not last long now, and tried to consults with her eldest brother. It did not really concern her northern relations much, given that they lived in mostly Noldorin realms, but it could very materially affect her, and Ingoldo as well, given that he was given the land for his new realm by King Elwë's leave. As she should have predicted, however, her brother was as unshakeably optimistic as ever and insisted that the king trusted him and once he did find out, there would be no backslash again them.

He had no time for her concerns. There was the construction work on his city, which was in full swing now, with hundreds of dwarves employing their craft to create a place of beauty for the Noldorin prince to dwell in. Ingoldo had finally settled on a name as well – it was to be called Narogrotto. "But will such an obvious name not make it rather easier for your enemies to find you?" Nerwen asked him when she was first told. "I thought the idea was to have a secret, well defended place."

"Oh, I have no intention of hiding entirely," he replied cheerfully. "That would be absurd. I will have a vast area to control, as you know, so if course the Enemy will know roughly where I am. It is only that he will find it impossible to get inside."

Nerwen gave him a hard look. This cockiness was rare in her eldest brother, and reminded her more of Aikanáro, or Findekáno when he was in a teasing mood. But of course Ingoldo said it differently, without a laugh, simply as if he was stating a fact. "Pray that it is true," she replied simply.

But apart from this ever recurring topic, Ingoldo had a different, new matter to talk about. That matter was Lord Ciryatan. Galadriel had never met him in person, because the journey to his lands from Hithlum was long and she had not liked the idea of leaving them for so long before she married; and now, she felt she spent quite enough time away from Celeborn with her frequent journeys tot he North without travelling to the Sea as well.

However, she knew Lord Ciryatan was very old – older than king Elwë, in fact, for he awoke at Cuiviénen before him, and so certainly older than any of the Noldor who came back from Aman. Apparently, he was very wise as well. Ingoldo seemed enchanted. She knew he had felt lonely ever since he left the North, without his brothers, but mainly without Turukáno, and now he found a friend to his liking, someone who seemed to be like a father to him, much like Ñolofinwë was to her. She was happy for her brother, and curious about the shipmaster. She was decided, now, that as soon as Narogrotto was finished, she would make a trip to the sea from it, even though she expected a lot of painful memories would emerge that way.

Or at least, that had been her plan before the messenger from Ciryatan arrived in Doriath.

Ingoldo was visiting and he was full of fresh news about the old Sinda; Angaráto was there for once, too, come to see his sister and share news with his eldest brother. They were sitting together with King Elwë and Queen Melian when the messenger arrived, and implying that it was important, made the king leave the room.

When he returned, there was great anger in his face and Galadriel pressed Celeborn's hand even as she looked at Queen Melian. She knew what was to come, and could not stop it.

The king turned his wrathful eyes to Ingoldo and said: "I'll have you done to me, kinsman, to conceal so great matters from me. For now I've learned of all the evil deeds of the Noldor."

Ingoldo chose to pretend ignorance, of all things. His lapses in wisdom were rare, but they tended to be all the more fatal when they happened – after all, that proved best in his departure for Middle-Earth. As could have been predicted, that enraged Elwë even more. "I marvel at you, son of Earwen," he said, "that you'd come to the board of your kinsman thus red-handed from the slaying of your mother's kin, and yet say naught in defence, nor seek any pardon!"

Ingoldo did not have an answer to that, unsurprisingly, and Galadriel was just searching for a way to say something to placate the king without revealing too much when Angaráto spoke, moved to emotion: "Lord, I don't know what lies you've heard, nor whence; but we came not red-handed. Guiltless we came forth, save maybe of folly, to listen to the words of fell Feanor, and become as if besotted with wine, and as briefly. No evil did we do on our road, but suffered ourselves great wrong; and forgave it. For this we're named tale-bearers to you and treasonable to the Noldor: untruly as you know, for we have of our loyalty been silent before you, and thus earned your anger. But now these charges are no longer to be borne, and the truth you shall know."

Come to think of it, Galadriel mused, the failings of her brothers were often like this – Angaráto was rarely moved to act impulsively, but when he was, it was monumental. She understood, of course, why he of all her kin would be the most outraged at the accusation, he who least wanted to go and bore the slaying of Alqualondë most painfully. And to be accused of such by Olwë's brother, too... As Galadriel listened to him listing all the evils of Fëanáro, powerless to stop him without forcing her will on him, she pressed Celeborn's hand again and looked into his eyes, where she found the support she needed when such painful memories were brought forward.

Angaráto, meanwhile, got to the sufferings of the Helcaraxë and words failed him. He only said: "Wherefore should we that endured the Grinding Ice bear the name of kinslayers and traitors?"

Galadriel mused that it probably was exactly this black and white to his mind; but the Queen of Doriath was one of the wisest to ever come into Ea, and she could not keep silent as she said: "Yet the shadow of Mandos lies on you also."

Galadriel decided to tell the story in more detail, and in somewhat more balanced form, to Lady Melian later. For now, however, she would keep silent. She did not like to tell it in front of the king – even though she knew his wife would retell him every detail later, in this way she did not at least have to endure his comments – and she did not want to remind her brothers of every part of the painful tale.

After a long silence, King Elwë spoke. "Go now!" he said. "For my heart is hot within me. Later you may return, if you will; for I'll not shut my doors for ever against you, my kindred, that were ensnared in an evil that you didn't aid. With Fingolfin and his people also I'll keep friendship, for they have bitterly atoned for such ill as they did. And in our hatred of the Power that wrought all this woe our griefs shall be lost. But hear my words! Never again in my ears shall be heard the tongue of those who slew my kin in Alqualondë! Nor in all my realm shall it be openly spoken, while my power endures. All the Sindar shall hear my command that they shall neither speak with the tongue of the Noldor nor answer to it. And all such as use it shall be held slayers of kin and betrayers of kin unrepentant."

Nerwen was the first of Arafinwë's children to raise, and she left the king's halls, her brothers following behind her. They crossed the bridge from Thousand Caves before they spoke for the first time. "Can we never escape the shadow of Feanor?" Ingoldo asked with despair in his voice, breaking the silence.

Nerwen personally rather thought this had little to do with the shadow of Fëanáro and a lot to do with Singollo's own particular idiocy, but she knew her brother liked the king and would not agree with her. So instead, she said: "Queen Melian was right. The Doom of Mandos lies on us all."

They headed to western borders of Doriath, since Angaráto, his visit to Thousand Caves cut so unexpectedly short, decided to see his brother's unfinished city instead. "Do you believe," Angaráto asked, "that the king meant for you to leave as well?"

"I know he did not," Nerwen replied. "It was me who wanted to quit his halls, at least for a time."

"So are you going with us to Narogrotto?" Angaráto asked in surprise.

Nerwen actually considered it for a moment, thinking that this was precisely what Ingoldo had foreseen, the moment when she would need to leave Singollo's realm quickly. But then she shook her head. "No. I do still have a husband here. I will see you to the edges of this land, and then I will seek him out."

"You should speak Sindarin," Finrod interrupted them in that language. "Remember the king's ban."

That particular reminder made Galadriel so angry she stayed silent for a long while.

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She was not very surprised to see that Celeborn was waiting for her only a few hours' journey from the border, and that she came across him after she turned back.

"I'm sorry," he said simply.

"I don't know if I'm ready to return to Thousand Caves," she replied. "Your king often makes me angry, but never before as much as now."

"I was afraid it'd be worse," he admitted.

It certainly could have been, but Nerwen was in no mood to be conciliatory. "Quenya is the tongue of my parents, Celeborn! The language of my first home, of my childhood, of my family, of all the art I love. I've been reduced to living in a land where I can't even speak the words I love most. And if it was at least just! But no, this is the most absurd royal decision I've ever heard of. Instead of punishing the guilty, we ban the language of art and culture and lore, the language the murdered spoke almost as much as the murderers." She shook her head. "I wonder if your king hadn't wanted to do this for a long time already, and this merely served as a convenient excuse."

Celeborn frowned. "My love..."

"I apologize. I don't know whether it's better to simply believe him so very foolish, or to ascribe to him some darker motives."

"To my mind, it was neither." he sighed. "It was simply the first way that occurred to him to vent his anger. But such is the nature of our king that once the decision was made, he'll not take it back."

"I didn't imagine he would." Valar forbid that Singollo be ever forced to admit his mistake. "I didn't like your king before, for various reasons, but know this: if it wasn't for my marriage to you, I'd never have set foot in Thousand Caves again after this decree. My friendship with the Queen and Lúthien would probably have been enough to bring me to oriath, but I would have come with distaste, and it is with distaste that I stay now."

Celeborn looked away. "Do you wish to..."

"No. I'd have asked. I considered it on my way from the border, but it wouldn't be just to make you pay for his foolishness by making you leave your family. However, I _will_ probably depart for the North soon, to stay there some time, for I find the idea of being near the king impossible at the moment. I'd...appreciate it if you accompanied me."

"Of course, my love."

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When they at length returned to Thousand Caves, Nerwen went to see the Queen, who welcomed her with understanding and apology in her eyes. "I would not take the chance to use your father's tongue away from you," she said, in Quenya. "Whenever you are with me, and only with me, you may speak it."

"My lady, I'd not wish you to go against the king's orders," Nerwen replied in Sindarin, hesitant.

Lady Melian, however, did not change her tune. "Do not forget that I am Queen of this land, too. I do not often use my power in such manner, but in this thing I am decided."

Nerwen allowed the queen to feel her gratefulness fully, and Melian smiled: "Is it so strange than I would wish to help you in this?"

"No, it is only that...you do not often go against the wishes of your husband."

"No." Lady Melian paused. "It occurs to me that we have not discussed this matter since you married. Do you understand me better now?"

Galadriel thought about it. "Not truly," she said then. "Celeborn does not often make me very upset – usually it is only some trifling matter of Doriath politics that we disagree on – but when he does, it never once occurred to me to conceal it from him."

"I do not conceal my thoughts from the king either, you know that. I hardly could. It is only that my upset is gentler than yours, and my husband, I suspect, more headstrong."

And less respectful, Galadriel though but did not say and managed to conceal. "You found it very easy to get used to married life, did you not?" The Queen continued.

"The married part of it, yes. Living so far from the North is still difficult, though."

"Is there something you miss apart from your loved ones?"

"The wide, open skies," Galadriel replied immediately. "And perhaps the Noldorin wonders of craft sometimes, though Ingoldo's dwarven friends almost make up for it, truly."

The Queen smiled at this, and rose. "Come, then," she said. "Let us spend time like frivolous court ladies for once."

She led the way to the large rooms carved close to the entrance to Thousand Caves that were reserved for merchants and craftsmen, displaying their goods for the inhabitants of Thousand Caves to browse and buy.

Galadriel felt that the Queen was doing her best to cheer her, and went along with her plan quite willingly, grateful for any distraction. The merchants were all aflutter when the two ladies appeared, since the normal procedure was to have the most interesting pieces brought to them instead. There was a flurry of bowing and reverential mutters, and the common people of Doriath hurried to get out of the way.

Lady Melian smiled at them kindly and bid them not to be disturbed in their routine – in vain, of course. All other activity was interrupted as she slowly walked among the stalls with Galadriel at her side, looking for beauty.

The Queen led the way to the chamber where jewellery was to be found, but Galadriel soon discovered that it was no match for what the dwarves of Nogrod could make for her, and so they passed to where the different fabrics were displayed.

Here she found true beauty to her eye, for in weaving the skill of the Sindar was incomparable to that of the Noldor, except perhaps for her grandfather's first wife. She wandered among the rows of silk and satin and muslin and soft wool, touching it and imagining the different dresses that could be made from it, and which of her friends and acquaintances would look well in them.

In time, she became aware that the Queen probably expected her to choose something for herself, and so, though still not much in the mood for dress and fearing that whatever she chose on this day would prove to be too glum and tinged with bitterness later, she went in search of fabrics in her favourite colours, green and red.

As she was examining some rich green brocade, Lady Melian, regarding the rolls of white muslin close to her, remarked: "Why is it that you never wear my favourite colour?"

Galadriel smiled at this. "There are several reasons. One of them is my cousin. Íreth, I mean."

At the Queen's inquiring glance, she continued: "Íreth made it into her trademark colour. She never wears anything else, and is even called The White Lady of the Noldor for that. I have no intention of competing with her in this." She laughed. "Besides," she said, "she looks better in it, and I look better in green."

"Yes, it goes well with our eyes. It brings them out. Though blue would probably work as well..."

Nerwen felt a brief pang of pain of longing as she replied: "Blue is popular with my kin. Fingon and my uncle most often clothe themselves in royal blue, as befits their station, while Idril...her eyes are blue as summer skies, and no one could ever look as good in bright blue as she does. I don't even try." She paused. "And of course, very dark blue is your daughter's colour."

"Yes," the Queen agreed, taking out one muslin roll. "You'd probably look good in dark colours, and still I can't quite imagine it."

"No, neither can I. Noon is the time of day I love the most. I'll leave twilight to your daughter."

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Travelling North, Nerwen decided to do her duty first and so she stopped on Tol Sirion on the way, to see how Artaresto was doing.

He welcomed them at the gates with a soft smile. "Aunt! And Lord Celeborn. What a pleasant surprise."

"How are you doing? Ingoldo has not been here for quite some time..."

Artaresto's smile broadened. "Do not worry, I can manage a realm for a few years, though I do not deny there will be some things I will wish to ask you about. But I have helped my father and uncle rule Dorthonion for almost half a century."

"Of course. Forgive me."

"There is nothing to forgive – I am not trying to deny I have a lot to learn from you, simply attempting to assuage your worry. But in any case, I would not wish to exhaust you with work immediately after your arrival. Let my people show you to your chambers, and then come to the feast hall to get sustenance. We will talk tomorrow."

Nerwen assented to this, and they left. Once they were comfortably in her usual rooms, Celeborn said: "I haven't had the occasion to talk to your nephew much before, but he does seem very reasonable."

"Oh, yes, it isn't that that worries me," Nerwen replied, taking off her travel clothes. "He's truly his father's son, in everything, including often being easily swayed – though perhaps not as easily as Angaráto. That's my concern. He has Finrod's advisers here now, of course, so it's safe enough, but should the wrong kind of people manage to gain his ear...well."

Celeborn stepped behind her, caressing her naked belly. "Well, that's why we're here, isn't it?" He said. "To make sure that didn't happen. Now, how much time exactly do we have before we should be in the feast hall?"

She smiled at him. "I believe we can spare a moment."

They spared rather more than a moment, in the end, but Artaresto did not comment on it. "I apologize for speaking Quenya before," he said instead to Celeborn. "I didn't realize-"

"It's fine," the Doriath lord replied, though he kept to Sindarin. "I can understand it without major problems, it's speaking that gives me trouble."

"How come? I thought Quenya wasn't used in Doriath."

At this, Nerwen took a sharp breath and Celeborn's smile disappeared. Artaresto looked confused. "What's the matter?"

"I wanted to save this for tomorrow," Nerwen replied, "but I might as well tell you now. King Thingol," and there was distinct venom in her voice at the name, "learned about Alqualondë, and saw it fit to ban Quenya in Doriath, in response." She paused. "Well, actually I'm quite sure he intended the ban to apply to the whole of Beleriand, but fortunately his ability to enforce that – or willingness, really – is very low."

Artaresto seemed at a loss for words. "I..." He hesitated, and gave an uncertain glance to Celeborn.

The Sindarin lord realized the problem immediately. "I've known about it for years," he said, "and though my heart bleeds for it, those who are punished should be the killers themselves, and not the innocent, and least of all my wife, whose kin was slaughtered there, and yet she'll feel it the most, living as she is in my king's realm."

"It wasn't precisely just, no," Artaresto agreed cautiously. "But the evil of Alqualondë...it must have been a terrible shock to your king."

"It probably was," Nerwen agreed, "and not the least because of the way your father told the story."

"It was my father who told him?" Artaresto asked in some astonishment. "I though...I mean, he swore to Maedhros that he..." then Artaresto bit his lip, shot another quick glance at Celeborn, and looked down on the table.

"Your father told him only after Thingol accused Finrod and all of us of taking part in the kinslaying, for such were the rumours that reached him. Angrod could not quite keep his silence after that. I...understand why."

Artaresto could only nod, seemingly in pain. He had half grown up in Alqualondë, and the kinslaying had hit him almost as hard as Angaráto. "I don't know what to say," he said at length. "I've never spoken about Alqualondë with anyone who wasn't a Noldo – not that we speak of it much at all -, and well, on one hand, people mostly seem to think we should be apologising, but on the other..."

"Please don't," Celeborn stopped him immediately. "I know you didn't participate, and people you know died on that beach. For me, it's only a distant knowledge of kin. For you, they were family. It would be absurd for you to apologize to me."

Artaresto exhaled, clearly grateful.

"And don't worry about mentioning Maedhros in front of me either," Celeborn added. "He and Maglor admitted their guilt to me and apologized, before the wedding. I don't...like them, exactly – they're still murderers – but I don't hold a grudge either."

Nerwen pressed his hand in appreciation.

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AN: Like, forbidding someone to speak their mother tongue is a HUGE thing. But of course Thingol doesn't give a flying crap about Galadriel, so… (nor she about him, to be fair).


	15. Premonitions

AN: Warning: somehow, there are lots of prayers in this chapter.

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 **Chapter 15: Premonitions**

 _Year 102 of the Sun, Doriath_

Galadriel's happiness in Doriath had not been perfect before Singollo's ban on Quenya, but it diminished afterwards. It was difficult not to feel unwelcome in what was supposed to be her home when she could not even speak her own language in it, and also, many of Thousand Caves were now looking at her with suspicion and distrust. All the ground she had managed to gain in her first fifteen years there was lost. She spent even less time outside of the limited company of her husband, Lady Ernil, Lúthien or Melian now, even though she always walked with her head high among those who distrusted her. But Doriath was no longer the quiet haven it had been when she first visited it, and the years there grew heavy.

She was also tempted by this to spend even more time in the North, something she knew was not quite fair to her husband, and the temptation to be away grew even worse when, finally, Ingoldo finished the capital of his new realm and moved there, and she could come to visit.

In fact, all of her brothers were present at the celebratory First Feast, Dorthonion being left in Eldalótë's care for a time. It was a happy reunion, and Nerwen had to admit that the city was beautiful. She was glad, too, to see many of her own suggestions being put in practice here. It was not quite like her own house, but it was the closest to it she was going to get anywhere else, and it was, after all, an entire city.

At the feast, Galadriel took the place of honour by Ingoldo's side, the one where the Queen of Narogrotto would have sat, had there been one. This troubled Galadriel a little. Ingoldo was a king of his own realm now, after all – their uncle granted him that title into use – and kings should have heirs. She did not forget Amarië beyond the Sea, but given her brother's doubts about the realness of the Flame, she could not help but ask: "Will you ever consider taking a wife, beloved?"

Ingoldo looked at her and replied in a strange tone of voice: "An oath I too shall swear, and must be free to fulfil it, and go into darkness. Nor shall anything of my realm endure that a son should inherit."

Nerwen shuddered. She was used to her own foresight, but it was always unnerving when someone else had a vision, especially since it often led them to such grand pronouncements, whereas for her, it was closer to a normal part of life. "An oath?" She said. "Oh Ingoldo...I would have thought you too wise for that."

He blinked, coming to terms with the pronouncement himself, before saying: "We do not know in what circumstances it will be – perhaps it will be the wisest thing to do at the moment."

Nerwen sincerely doubted that. She did not much believe in oaths, except the marriage ones. Not since Alqualondë, not that she had been a particular supporter of the idea before. She sighed. "It is your decision, and you are unlikely to be dissuaded, especially if you saw it already. But is this the real reason for you not wanting to marry?"

"It is not – more, it is that this vision gave me a better understanding of this grief of mine. My doubt has passed, and I now once again believe that Amarië and I are bound by the Flame. I have often wondered what plan The One had with me, why did he allow me to be separated from my true love. In His graciousness, he allowed me to glimpse something of His reasons. I am grateful."

"Ingoldo...you were separated from Amarië because you insisted on leaving Aman even though she told you she never would." Galadriel knew her words would hurt her brother, but some things, she believed, needed to be said.

"Yes," he admitted, with the flash of pain she had known would come, "but the One has a way of incorporating even our bad decisions into his Music."

That was very true, and they both offered thanks in a silent prayer for that before he said: "I could ask you something similar. Will you ever have children?"

"Not while we live under the shade of the Enemy, no. We cannot win this war, as you know, and unless I know whether we are all to die in darkness or whether the Lords of the West will have mercy on us, I will not bring any children into this world."

Ingoldo nodded, accepting her reasons, and as she often did, she felt like an acute pain the difference between him and Findekáno. Findekáno knew her better and understood her better, and he would have known that while she was truthful, she was not being entirely honest.

She sighed. She missed him, and longed to go North again.

Instead she headed west some weeks later, to visit the fabled Lord Ciryatan. He was apparently her distant kin, since he was something of an uncle to her grandfather from her mother's side, and so, of course, to Singollo as well. She certainly hoped he was more like Olwë than like Elwë.

On meeting him, however, she found that he was neither. She found Singollo distinctly lacking in wisdom, and grandfather Olwë in force – sometimes he seemed to have no actual will of his own, only passively reacting to matters around him. Lord Ciryatan, on the other hand, had personality enough for his entire family.

He was not overbearing, though – no, there was just something about his calm presence that made one sure that he noticed everything and that his opinions, once formed, were unshakeable. Galadriel saw that he was very different from her, and yet wanted him to think well of her very much. In this, he reminded her of her Vanyar relations and High King Ingwë most of all, even though he was very different from him in all else.

"My dear princess," he said upon seeing her, "I've heard much about you."

"If it was from my brother, then I've got at least a good chance it was praise," she replied with a smile.

"It was mostly from your brother, and it was mostly praise," he admitted. "But then your brother is very disposed to think well of everything and everyone, so I'd much rather make up my mind myself."

"The first thing I can tell you, my lord, is that I agree with you in that estimate. I don't think there's one Ingoldo thinks badly of, except the Enemy himself, and his creatures."

Lord Ciryatan smiled at the honorific she gave him. "Why such reverence?" He asked. "You're kin to my beloved Olwë, and your father is a king. There's no need for you to be subservient."

Galadriel laughed at that. "I don't think I've ever been subservient in my life," she replied. "But when I'm forced to give titles of honour to those I'd sooner not respect in such a way, then allow me to include you in it, too, even though we might be on more equal ground."

The Lord of Falas smiled again at this. "So my nephew's ruling is not to your satisfaction?"

Nerwen felt immediately ashamed. "Forgive my, my lord, I spoke too harshly."

"There's nothing to forgive. I didn't often see eye to eye with him when we still dwelt together, and while I stayed on these shores partly because of him, it was more out of responsibility than close bonds between us. In fact, when talking of the people Ingoldo insists on thinking too well of, he was one of those on my mind. Your brother's respect for the High King continues unabated, even after the ban on Quenya was put into practice and caused you, as he knows, much grief."

"Yet it was you who sent the messenger to the king," Galadriel said bitterly.

"Yes. It was me, and I made sure your brother was present at court before I did. The rumours would have reached the king sooner or later, and I thought it better to arrange it so that someone who could explain the truth, whatever it was, was present – because that the rumours were not truthful in themselves was clear to me."

Galadriel was ashamed once more. "I should have told the truth to the king earlier," she said. "But I didn't want to betray my cousins."

Lord Ciryatan, however, shook his head. "It wouldn't have helped. You know perfectly well that Elu does not trust nissi as much as he does neri – perhaps the biggest show of his foolishness, especially given who his wife is – and he would not have taken your words seriously enough, he wouldn't have trusted them over the rumours. That's why I waited for your brother to be present."

"I apologize, my lord," she said, looking away. "I've underestimated your wisdom." She seemed to be doing that a lot, lately.

"Don't apologize for that either – you only knew it from hearsay, and have we not just established that it's better to make sure ourselves?"

She smiled at him, and then said: "As regards my brother and his unfailingly good opinions of everyone, he dislikes evil so strongly he's unwilling to see it anywhere, and believes that if he treats people like they are the images of perfection, they will become so." A thought entered her mind, but she prevented it leaving her mouth.

She could not, however, fool someone as wise as Lord Ciryatan. "Speak your mind," he invited her.

"It's a blasphemous thing," the protested.

"I won't judge you too harshly, but I'm curious."

"It merely came to my mind that...that he resembled the Elder King in this, may he forgive me for the comparison."

Lord Ciryatan laughed. "I've never met Manwë," he said, "but from what I've heard about him, it doesn't appear to be too far from the truth. The Elder King is far greater and mightier than your brother, of course, but it does not mean they can't have the same approach to the world in some respects. You brother would no doubt see it as a compliment."

"It should be one," Galadriel muttered, well aware she did not mean it that way.

"Manwë is not The One," Lord Ciryatan replied softly. "Don't treat him as such."

Startled, Galadriel turned to him. "Have you ever met my husband, Lord Celeborn?"

"I haven't had the honour. Why?"

"This is what he told me during one of our first meetings, when I was insisting that nothing can be said in the slightest against Lord Manwë. I think the two of you would have much in common. Perhaps the lure of a visit to you might even be enough to draw him from his beloved forest for a while."

"It would have to, because nothing smaller that the force of the Enemy can draw me from my beloved havens."

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Returning to Doriath, Galadriel still dwelt in mind on the matters of the Valar, and so one day when in company of Queen Melian, she said: "My lady, I know it might be something you do not wish to turn your mind to, but the thought has been plaguing me..."

Melian clearly glimpsed where her thoughts were headed, because Galadriel could see pain and sadness in her eyes. Nevertheless, she said only: "Ask."

"Do you remember Moricotto from the times of the music? Or any of his mightier servants?"

"Of course I remember him. All of us who played the music remember him – we do not forget, and he would not go unnoticed. He was...from what you have told me, if I should describe him to you so that you understood, I would say – knowing that I may cause you great pain by it – I would say that at the beginning, he was akin in character to your half-uncle, Fëanáro...and to you."

Galadriel was too astonished at hearing this to say anything, and Melian said: "Have you never noticed the similarity between you and your uncle?"

"I have."

"And what did you do, once you realized it?"

Nerwen cast her mind back to those thousands years ago, to when she had barely outgrown childhood. "I saw what a fiery spirit without temperance and patience and kindness can do," she said, "and I did my best to cultivate those in myself – I did not have much at the beginning. That was the first time I went to Lórien, you see...I witnessed one of the violent shows of my uncle's spirit, and I went to Lady Estë to cure me from the fire, as I put it then – I was young, and very scared. I met Lord Olórin on the way, however, and he helped me understand that fire in itself was not a bad thing, when it wasn't allowed to burn without control."

Melian inclined her head, and continued: "And you saw what happened to your uncle, who did not have such an example before him. Melkor was like that, too. He wanted to create his own things and felt stilted by the themes of The One, and later, he wanted to rule the lands and wanted to be known as their king."

"Yet Fëanáro would not have turned so bad if it was not for Moricotto's lies and treason," Galadriel pointed out.

"I am not saying your uncle was as bad as Melkor, beloved. But the one who is now known as the Enemy...he did not want to revolt against the One completely at the beginning. He only wished to do a little something of his own, truly his own. Yes, it was disobedience and blasphemy, but he did not intend it as a complete break, not originally. As strange as it may sound in the current situation, his is a tale of slowly descending into evil, too."

"It is not so very strange," Galadriel said. "I remember him from Valinor, from the short while he had Manwë's trust. I had little faith in him, but I know there was something good in him at least then – he would not have fooled so many Noldor otherwise. You are right that he was much like Fëanáro in that he was chiefly very great – the fall came after, and as a result."

Queen Melian took her hand and pressed it reassuringly. "Not a necessary result, remember that – you, beloved, are an example of greatness that does not go wrong."

Galadriel smiled a little sadly, the shadow of the Ice in her eyes. "As are you, my lady, and many others among both my people and yours."

The Queen, however, shook her head rather resolutely. "That is not what I mean. The things in which I am great and wise do not lend themselves easily to the sort of evil we are discussing here, though there is certainly such I might be suspect to. Your greatness, however, does – more so than the greatness of any of the others from your kin – yet you have not lost this battle."

"I have not won it either," she replied, "and there are many fights yet to come – but The One is merciful," she added, visited by foresight, "and the greatest will only come after I have grown in wisdom as much as I will ever be able to grow. With His help, may I overcome."

"May he give you his blessings," Melian joined the prayer.

At this point, they were disturbed by Lúthien, who entered her mother's chambers and stopped short at the sight of Galadriel. "Oh," she said. "I was coming to see my mother."

The Noldorin lady immediately rose. "I'll go, then," she said.

"Oh no, no, you can stay. It's only that I didn't expect to see you here."

Galadriel laughed. "It shows how much time you spend in the forest," she said. "I spend almost all of my mornings with your mother."

"Do you? What do you do, closed up in her chambers like that?"

It was Lady Melian's turn to laugh. "Talk," she said. "And I teach Galadriel the little she doesn't know about healing that I do."

The lady in question almost snorted. "The little I don't know. Of course. And besides, your mother teaches me much more than only healing."

Lúthien sat down on the chaise next to her mother, huddling up to her. "Galadriel can learn your spells?" She asked. "I thought...I mean, you always said that you can only teach me, because it's in my blood."

Melian put one arm around her daughter. "Not all of them, no. Some because she isn't kin to me, and some because she doesn't have natural inclination in that direction. But she can learn quite a lot, because she has much power of her own. And there are things she could do that you couldn't."

Galadriel looked away. She knew what things, of course. It was the kind of skills that was a contact temptation to her. Lúthien could never bend anyone to her will.

"Don't be ashamed for something you can do," her friend told her, seeing her thoughts. "That's just foolish."

The Queen laughed. "Blunt as my daughter is, she isn't wrong. But you wished to see me for a reason, I expect, beloved, at this unusual time?" She added to the princess.

"Yes," her daughter admitted. "I wanted to escape."

"Ah," Melian said only, clearly understanding, and Galadriel felt confused.

She had thought she knew both ladies well, but now she had no idea what was happening and felt like an intruder.

This time, it was Lady Melian who answered her thoughts. "I think you can join us," she reassured her, "if Lúthien said you can stay..."

"Yes. Yes, she can, as long as you don't mind, Mother."

Galadriel still had no idea what was happening, but then Queen Melian reached for her, took her hand, enveloped her mind...and she understood.

For the Queen took them both to places in her memories where she never took Nerwen before, to before she came to Middle-Earth, to the Spring of Arda. And here, in this space outside of the world as they knew it, Galadriel understood her friend better than ever before. As much as Lúthien loved the forest she lived in, with every living thing inside of it, she was not wholly of Arda, and sometimes she needed to escape its confines. Nerwen was suddenly sure that when she was not present, her mother took Lúthien further back in memory, to before she entered into Eä. But such memories were not for her to be seen directly, and so as much as she might long for them, Galadriel contended herself with watching the world before the taint of the Enemy became pronounced – memories that gave Lúthien at least some relief from the confines of the world she knew, and that gave Nerwen immeasurable joy.

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The next time Nerwen went North, it was a little earlier than usual, for she had felt some concern from her uncle. It was not clear enough to tell what worried him, but she wished to give what counsel and encouragement she could anyway.

It turned out the cause was simple: Findekáno had told him about Ambë.

"I asked him about marriage and heirs," Ñolofinwë explained, and Nerwen smiled in spite of herself, feeling her talk with Ingoldo echoed. Sometimes her mind and her uncle's truly worked in similar ways. "And I felt such a strong emotion in response that I could not help but ask, and in the end, he told me."

"Has Ambë found out about Alqualondë?" Nerwen asked immediately, the most likely reason why the matter would be on Findekáno's mind more clearly occurring to her immediately.

"He does not know. He has not see her since King Elwë found out, and he is unsure whether the fact that she stays away is an accident or whether she is avoiding him."

"Should I ask her, then, the next time I am visiting Falas?"

"Perhaps that would be good, yes. Findekáno should know how much she knows. If she knew all, he could perhaps allow himself a chance at happiness."

There was clear pain in Ñolofinwë's voice, and his niece embraced him. "I mostly let go of my anger towards Fëanáro and his sons," her uncle muttered into her hair, "but this made it flare brightly once again. It was for them that my son killed, and because of them that he now cannot be with his love."

That was not entirely true, but Nerwen kept that observation to herself.

Instead, she attempted to distract her uncle and cheer him, and when he confessed that he did not feel equal to any kind of diplomatic contact with the sons of Fëanáro at the moment, she offered to go to Maitimo herself and arrange whatever was necessary.

In truth, she was thankful for the excuse to stay away from Singollo and his court a little while longer, even though she missed Celeborn dearly, and especially every night before she fell asleep, her thoughts would not abandon him.

Himring was not a kind place to visit, and when winds were blowing especially hard there, it brought back memories of the Ice, even though it was, of course, warm compared to it. Maitimo welcomed her at the gates graciously enough, but he apologized for not having time for her at the moment: "My brother is here," he said, "and I am treating with him."

"Which brother?"

"Atarinkë."

"Ah."

"Precisely. Had it been Macalaurë, I would of course take you in to him, but as it is..."

"Yes. I will see you at dinner, then."

But at dinner, of course, she saw Atarinkë as well. "Ah, the youngest of my half-cousins," he said as soon as he saw her.

"And the craftiest of mine," she returned. "What an unexpected pleasure."

"Is it? Though unexpected, yes, I can agree with that. I understand my brother has to treat with Findekáno, Turukáno and your brother – they, after all, rule their own kingdoms – but I confess it escapes me why he bothers with you."

So I take it the discussion between brothers did not go well, Galadriel thought silently. Aloud, she said: "I would say you are as pleasant as ever, Curufinwë, but it appears the delight I take in your company has even increased since the last time I saw you."

"It is the climate," Maitimo broke in, "it does not agree with him."

"What does not agree with me," Atarinkë returned, "is the inaction. We sit in our fortresses, doing nothing, while the Enemy keeps the Silmarils. Father would have-"

"Yes, but as it happens, Father is dead," Maitimo replied in a very hard tone of voice. "I decide what we do now."

Nerwen saw the lords present at the table exchange looks of disquiet. The one who – to Nerwen's astonishment – had silver hair seemed ready to interfere. "The Siege has only started a few decades ago," she quickly interjected. "We need time to gather our forces and plan what to do next, time to settle. I am certain Uncle will begin work on more as soon as it is feasible."

"You need time, you mean," Atarinkë returned. "I and my brothers are ready." He paused. "Well, Tyelkormo is, at the very least. Maitimo does not seem to be ready to do anything but be the High King's," he spat the title, "lapdog. Sometimes I wonder whether he has forgotten the oath we have made."

Maitimo hissed. "You know well that is impossible."

"Is it? You seem quite comfortable with it. For me, yes, it would be. I do not know how exactly you understood your promise, but I swore that I will never stop attempting to regain the Silmarils, and I will use any means at my disposal to reach them." Atarinkë stood sharply, the chair scraping behind him, and left the room at a quick pace.

Maitimo exhaled.

"So, your talks not going well, then?" Nerwen asked.

"No," he admitted. "My brother...he is not joking when he speaks about any means at his disposal. He is attempting to convince me that we should kidnap some important lord or lady from Doriath and then present it to Singollo that the Enemy holds them captive – he hopes, you see, that we would provoke the force of Doriath to march to war that way."

Galadriel hissed sharply, shocked. "I did not think," she said, "that your brother was quite so fell."

Maitimo sighed. "It is the Oath," he replied. "He...does not bear it well. You know, everyone always speaks about how he is the most like Father, and it is true, both in form and in skill, but there is also one way in which he is very unlike: he is the weakest of us. The Oath finds it easiest to eat at him, and he falls victim to it the quickest. And, too, while we all loved Father dearly, in spite of everything, he loved him the most and bears his death the hardest."

Galadriel was silent for a while. "It would not work," she said then.

"What?"

"Your brother's plan. It would not work. Singollo would not march to war for anyone besides his wife or daughter, and you would never capture either of them." And perhaps, Nerwen mused, for his brother, but since Prince Elmo was not quite as powerful as the ladies and so less certain to escape the clutches of the sons of Fëanáro, she kept this name to herself.

"Surely you did not think I would ever consider the plan?" Maitimo asked, sounding shocked.

"Certainly not now," she replied. "But if, in future, perhaps in a thousand years, your Oath will tug as insistently on you as it does on your brother...I want you to know that it would not work."


	16. Wistfulness

**Chapter 16: Wisfulness**

 _Year 116 of the Sun, Doriath_

Itarillë was keeping a secret.

In fact, she had been keeping a secret for many years now.

At first Nerwen had thought her friend and cousin met her true love and tried not to hold her silence against her – after all, she had not told Itarillë about Celeborn at first either – but it had been going on far too long for that.

Of course it could be unrequited love, but Itarillë was not grieved enough by far for such a tragedy. No, the secret she was keeping was clearly not good news, but it was not completely devastating either.

The images that Nerwen saw in her mind lately were mostly of tall walls and lonely, isolated places, and of ropes being cut and bitter farewells. That did not help at all, and while Itarillë did not attempt to keep her friend out by closing her mind, it was clear she did not wish for Nerwen to poke further, so she refrained.

When asked about the matter, Itarillë unhappily explained that loyalty forbade her to speak of it.

And so Galadriel worried, and her worry grew exponentially when, at the end of her last visit to Hithulm, Itarillë embraced her fiercely for a long time, crying bitter tears. Yet the younger lady still refused to say anything, and her mind was now filled solely with grief.

Nerwen's disquiet was further increased about a month after she returned to Doriath, when she felt anger and grief from Findekáno, accompanied by images of Itarillë, Irissë and Turukáno departing for a journey. Yet she had arrived to Thousand Caves too recently and could not quite justify travelling back North without there being some urgency, and there appeared to be none. So she stayed, and tried to learn what was the matter by mind-speech instead.

Findekáno appeared in too much of an emotional upheaval to give her any particular answers, so she turned to her uncle instead. She found what she had been looking for there, but once she did, she wished she had not.

Apparently, Turukáno was building a hidden city, the location of which would be unknown and which no one would be allowed to leave or enter. He planned to leave for that city with his sister and daughter, as well as the entire people of Nevrast, and live there, not seeing the rest of his family and friends until the Enemy was defeated, not taking part in any wars.

When Nerwen read this in her uncle's mind, her anger flared so brightly that she could feel him sense it and react. He was attempting to calm her, but he was angry himself, and so Nerwen withdrew from his mind and rose from the settee in her rooms, beginning to pace furiously.

Turukáno had a way of proving to her she had been right about him all those years every time she started to doubt it.

There were many reasons for her anger. The chief among them was, of course, the thought of losing contact with Itarillë. Nerwen wished she could hope to convince her friend not to depart with Turukáno, but the younger lady's love for her father had always been deep and unshakeable, and especially after Elenwë's death, she would not abandon him. What she could perhaps do would be to convince Turukáno to allow her to enter his hidden city – he would hardly think she would betray him.

And it was true that apart from the way Itarillë would miss her grandfather, uncle and Nerwen herself, there was no reason to suppose she would be unhappy with the situation, so it should not be impossible to convince her father to make three exception to ensure the perfect happiness of his daughter.

The one who was certain not to enjoy the city, on the other hand, was Irissë.

Irissë hated cities in general, and was happiest when she could ride through wide and open lands, racing Tyelkormo and hunting wild creatures. A city she could never leave would be her idea of punishment. In fact, Nerwen was quite certain that before Elenwë's death, Irissë would have flat out refused to follow her brother. But in one of the strangest close relationships known among the Noldor, Turukáno's sister loved him very dearly and was protective of him, in spite of how profoundly different they were from each other. Now, when he was still dealing with his grief, Irissë would follow him – especially as had she not, she would have gone to live with her half-cousins instead, and that would have hurt Turukáno deeply. It was known that both Tyelkormo and Atarinkë took part in the burning of ships that should have brought Ñolofinwë's host to Middle-Earth, and thus contributed to Elenwë's death. Irissë did not stop her friendship with them on this account, arguing that they had not known Helcaraxë would be the path of those who remained behind, but she knew it hurt her brother and would not wish to give him such a blow as to go and live with these very cousins of hers.

Now Nerwen had no special love for Irissë beyond that which one had for all of one's kin, but she certainly did not wish for her to suffer in what would appear to her as a cage. And, also, she had no faith in Irissë's patience. Sooner or later, the White Lady would demand being allowed to leave the city, and sooner or later, her brother who could never refuse her would allow her to do so – and then his already troubled soul would grow even more so, the loss of his sister's company added to the loss of his wife's life.

Nerwen knew she should have compassion for Turukáno, who had been struck by such terrible tragedy, and that she should understand his need to protect what remained of his loved ones, but when grief turned into foolishness, it should not be given free reign. Nerwen decided to attempt to convince her uncle to forbid Turukáno to do as he planned if he could not be persuaded to make exceptions for Itarillë and Irissë.

She tried to touch her dear friend's mind to let her know that she was aware of the plan now, but Itarillë's mind seemed somehow strangely distant and clouded. Nerwen judged it to be another attempt to keep the secret of the prepared departure, and so left her friend's mind alone.

It was not until two months later, when Angaráto came to visit Thousand Caves, that she found out Turukáno had already departed, and Irissë and Itarillë with him.

When she heard the news, she could feel her heart turning cold and the blood draining from her face. Her hands, she knew, were shaking, and she could not speak.

Abruptly, she rose from the table. "Sister?" Angaráto said, confused.

Unable to reply, she marched from the room, and from Thousand Caves, out to the trees.

Celeborn found her there, staring into the distance.

"Your brother is worried," he said softly.

"Tell him I'm all right," she replied.

"But you aren't," he pointed out, embracing her from behind.

"No," she admitted, "but would it do any good to tell him that? He can't bring her back."

Celeborn frowned. "She isn't dead, my love."

"No," Galadriel laughed bitterly, "if she was, perhaps I'd meet with her sooner."

"Don't speak like that," he said sharply.

"Forgive me. I don't want to upset you, but I...my very soul weeps, Celeborn."

"I know." He paused. "Would the presence of Lady Melian help?"

"Not at this point, I'm afraid. I'd only...I'd only compare her to Idril, and find her wanting." She sighed. "I won't be able to talk to Lúthien for some time either, I'm afraid."

His embrace tightened. "I know you love her very much."

"More than myself...more than anyone except you, my love, and sometimes I'm not even certain of that." Galadriel closed her eyes. "But I'm actually sorry for Íreth as well."

"You'll miss your cousin?" Celeborn asked in understandable surprise, and so Galadriel explained the problem there.

"And even with Idril," she added, "it's not only about me. She'll miss me terribly, I know, as I'll miss her, but Fingon and Fingolfin are both very dear to her as well, and she..." and now Galadriel could See, and she said in dread, "she'll never see them again on these shores." With this pronouncement, her tears started to fall.

"Does she have no friends among her father's people?" Celeborn asked, when Galadriel was a little calmer once again.

"Some. Lord Glorfindel will be there, and her handmaidens, and she adores her father, so she won't be entirely lonesome, but...I know what she said to me, every time I came to visit. That without me, she was lost in solitude that she didn't desire. She already left half of her closest friends in Aman, for they were Vanyar...she didn't deserve to be robbed of almost all the rest." Her mind turned to Turukáno, and some of her sadness turned to anger again. "He shouldn't have given her the burden of concealing it from me, on top of all else," she said. "I now understand why she cried so much when we were saying goodbye the last time. She wished so very much to at least be able to tell me, so that I knew it was a goodbye, but she would not betray her father."

Her father, who in his attempts to protect the two remaining women he loved had caused them both intense pain. Yes, Nerwen was sorry for that family.

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No one in Doriath except Celeborn knew Itarillë at all. They had never even met her.

That was unbearable for Galadriel at the moment, and so she departed North, even knowing that everything in her house was going to remind her of her dearest friend, with whom she spent so much time there in the last century.

Findekáno had been expecting her arrival and awaiting it in her house, and upon seeing her, embraced her tightly. "She is gone," Nerwen said hollowly, after he let her go.

"Yes," he replied simply, because for the moment, there was nothing more to say.

"Turukáno should not have kept it such a secret," he commented once they were seated in one of Galadriel's parlours.

"Do you know where the city is?" She asked.

"No. Not even my father knows."

Nerwen turned her shocked eyes to him. "And to think that for a moment, I believed I had been wrong about your brother," she commented bitterly.

Findekáno sighed, leaning his head back on the settee. "I am in two minds about this, he said, staring at the ceiling. "On one hand, it is very characteristic of him, on the other, I would never have imagined he would go this far in his over-protectiveness and...well, cowardice."

Nerwen pressed his hand. "You are right that I have not been precise just now – I did not really think I was wrong in essence, just that I underestimated the other sides of his character, those that are truly wise, because of the ones that are not, and that I cannot agree with. And at this time, it is very difficult to remember the good ones once more." She paused. "How is your father?"

Findekáno closed his eyes. "He is not taking it well," he admitted quietly. "He is the only one who knew in advance they would leave, but still...you know how much he loves Itarillë."

"As much as me?" Nerwen asked hollowly. She knew she should not, but she was a little angry with her uncle for not telling her in advance. Of course, Turukáno had likely sworn him to secrecy, but he was the High King, and his father. He had no need to obey his son's commands in this respect.

Findekáno opened his eyes again and raised his head to look at her. "They may not spend long in the city," he said, attempting his usual optimism.

Nerwen, however, shook her head. "This city," she said, "will prevail the longest of all realms of the Eldar in Beleriand. And as long as it lasts, Itarillë will not leave it."

That made Findekáno sit up straight. "So you know you will not see her again?"

"I do not know – that is hidden from me. However, I know that you will not, not on this shore...and neither will your father."

Findekáno blanched, and Nerwen pressed his hand again. "Itarillë..." he whispered, and then asked shakily: "Are you certain?" He paused for a moment, but before she managed to reply, continued: "No, forgive me, of course you are. It is only...very hard to accept." He rubbed his eyes with his free hand. "Losing Turukáno would have been hard enough, but it is his own choice, and you know we have never been particularly close. Irissë...well, chiefly, I feel sorry for her. She did not feel she could refuse Turukáno under the circumstances, I believe, but I saw her before she departed and she did not wish to go."

"I expected something like that, yes. She would hardly be happy in a city, and in fact, I believe she will leave after some years pass."

"Have you Seen that as well, or…?"

"I have not," Nerwen admitted, "but I do know her, and so do you. Can you imagine her sitting there meekly as centuries pass?"

"No," Findekáno conceded, "but if she does leave...it will break Turukáno's heart all over again."

"I would feel sorrier for him if I was not so angry," Nerwen replied.

"Yes." Findekáno gave another sigh. "Which brings me back to Itarillë. Even though she lived so far for the last hundred years and I hardly ever travelled to Nevrast, the knowledge that I cannot expect to see her here on your next visit is making me miss her almost painfully."

Nerwen nodded absently, but her ever-practical mind caught on an important point in Findekáno's speech. "What will happen to Nevrast now?"

"I do not know. It does not appear Father plans to give it to anyone else..." He straightened. "He should make it yours!" He said, some excitement creeping back into his voice.

Nerwen, however, shook her head. "The reasons why he denied this wish of mine still stand. I do not have the people with whom I could defend the land."

"Surely if he assigned you a part of his own host..."

"Yes, and then I would rule over people who do not truly respect me as one capable of it. No, that is not what I wish for. Besides, Uncle has enough noblemen that he could repopulate the area had he truly wanted to. If he does not, I suspect it is out of respect for your brother's memory."

Findekáno frowned. "I try to have understanding for my brother," he said, "but he certainly does not deserve that."

"Perhaps not, but he is still your father's son. It is not for him that Uncle does it, not truly. It is for himself."

Findekáno contemplated that statement for a while, then asked: "Will you go see him while you are here?"

"Yes...but only after I calm down a little."

"I admire your selflessness, cousin, I truly do. Even in your grief, you respect his own pain."

Nerwen laughed self-deprecatingly. "Oh, it is not that," she said. "But I am angry with him, even though I know I have very little right to be, and until it passes, I do not wish to see him and bother him with my anger."

"You are angry with _him_? Why?"

"Because he did not tell me...because he did not give me one last chance to say goodbye, even though he knows how much I love Itarillë. Because he kept his word to Turukáno."

Nerwen buried her head in her hands, and Findekáno put his arm around her shoulders, attempting to offer some degree of comfort.

She looked up at him, and saw her own pain reflected in his eyes. "Why do we have tu suffer such things, even in times of peace?" He asked.

"It is as Queen Melian said – the shadow of Mandos lies on us all," Nerwen replied.

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When Galadriel next came to Narogrotto, a year later, she had another opportunity to feel ashamed of herself. In her grief, she forgot that Ingoldo had lost a great friend too, in Turukáno.

He did not need her to tell him he would never see him again either – he already knew. "I have always defended him," he said, "yet even as I try hard, I find it difficult to understand – or entirely forgive – that he did not tell me in advance he would be leaving. He was like a brother to me in many ways, and I feel it keenly."

"I know how you feel," Galadriel said and pressed his hand.

"I need something that would please my spirit," he said resolutely. "Come with me."

He led her to his chambers, and on the way, commented: "The dwarves have finally finished a work of jewellery they have been making for me. It is...precious. It rivals many of the works of Fëanáro."

They entered his rooms and he unlocked a jewellery case, and Galadriel stood in awe. Ingoldo's most precious stones were set into this work of art, and it blazed brilliant, forming a thing of extraordinary beauty. The light from the candles in the room reflected in it, and it glittered like sunlight.

"Come here," he said, and when she approached him, he took off her own necklace and put on this dwarven one in its place.

"Ingoldo," she said, "you cannot give this to me."

"I am not giving it to you," he replied, smiling. "I want it to stay in Narogrotto, to be its jewel. But any time you are here, I want you to wear it, because no jewel here is more precious than you, sister, and it underscores your beauty and makes you shine more brightly than ever before – except, I should say, on your wedding, because on that day you were so radiant even Lady Arien could not shine brighter."

He led her to a mirror, and gazing at herself, Galadriel had to admit he was right in a way – she and the necklace seemed to go together well, and make each other more precious.

"Let us walk through the city," he said, "I want my people to see the esteem I hold you in, and share in the beauty."

And so they walked, and remembered Turukáno and Itarillë together, in the blessed days of Aman, before darkness came. "Itarillë has never lived through real peace," Galadriel remembered. "She was born the day the Silmarils were presented to us, already under the shade of the Enemy, though we did not know yet."

"You did."

"I did not know either, Ingoldo, I merely suspected."

"That is more than can be said of me. I did not want to believe something so bad, and I did not want to believe Manwë could be wrong."

She smiled. "Lord Ciryatan, I believe, would have some things to say to you about that."

"Oh, he already has, do not worry. He seems to be entirely of the same mind as you."

"On the contrary, I think we are different as day and night, quite aside from the fact that he is much wiser than I am. That we agree on you being entirely too naive for your own good is not such a great wonder, after all."

He laughed in response. "Perhaps you are right – even Turukáno agrees with this, even though for different reasons."

"Turukáno," Galadriel noted sarcastically, "would believe Lord Námo too optimistic and careless."

"I will test this hypothesis when I meet with him in this Lord's halls," Ingoldo replied, and the cheer dissipated, as both siblings realized that it would truly be only there the two friends would meet again.

"I envy you in a way," he said. "You at least have nothing to reproach your friend with. You can mourn the loss of her company in peace. But Turukáno...I do not know, truly, what would I say to him even if we could speak right now. I am almost grateful that the Hidden City cannot really be reached by thought communication."

"Do not be, for it is one of the things that make my own pain more acute. Do you know how this was achieved? I asked Uncle, but he could not tell me anything."

"I do not believe it was intentional, merely a side effect of the protections that are on the city."

"And their origin?" Nerwen asked as they turned into a smaller corridor that ran perpendicular to Narogrotto's main, wide one. "I have never known Turukáno to be skilled in this sort of thing."

"No. It is not his work, I believe." Ingoldo paused. "I...do not know for certain, but...do you remember that Turukáno was with me on that journey during which Lord Ulmo visited me in my sleep?"

"Yes..."

"Well, we fell asleep together. I did not know at the time, but now I wonder. He gave me the idea of building a well-protected realm...why could he not give it to Turukáno as well? This land has Lord Ulmo's protection thanks to Narog flowing through it. Turukáno's might have such protection as well, and in an even greater measure. It could cause the transference of thought to become more unclear."

"But why do you believe it was unintentional, then?" Nerwen asked. "Surely communication of thought is a danger – the city is full of people, and you never know precisely whom they trust. It is an added security measure."

"Do you believe any of Turukáno's people would betray him in such a manner?"

"Oh, Ingoldo." She smiled at him, the dwarven necklace making her smile seem brighter. "I did not think I would ever say it, and especially not now, but you truly should take a leaf out of your best friend's book. He only told his father about their departure, that was how much he feared someone betraying him."

"Surely you do not believe that is something to imitate, little sister?"

Nerwen tried not to flinch at the term, which was, after all, factually correct, and replied: "Not precisely imitate, no, but you could certainly inspire yourself. I cannot help feeling that this beautiful realm you have built could one day fall in danger because of your blind faith in people."

"A vision?" He asked, worried.

"No," Nerwen replied, "merely observation."

Ingoldo smiled again, and once again, Nerwen tried to mask her irritation. While her brother trusted her visions, he did not quite trust her wisdom, and that was somehow much more offensive than had it been the other way round. "If you will not listen do me," she said, "why do you not, at least, listen to Lord Ciryatan?"

"But I recognize there are bad people in the world," he replied. "I have been in Alqualondë. I simply believe that giving up my faith in them in general would be giving up. It would be letting the Enemy win."

"A noble sentiment," Galadriel conceded, "but you have responsibilities. You are a king now. What if your people suffered for this belief?"

"Fear can justify many things. It was what motivated Turukáno to hide in his secret city, and you do not approve of that. What is the difference?"

"Surely moderation..."

"Ah, but where is the golden middle ground? Wherever you declare it?"

Galadriel's eyes flashed. "No," she said, "clearly, wherever you do."

He sighed. "Let us not argue. I am frustrated with what Turukáno did, and not...at my best. Can we walk on in peace?"

She made herself smile, and nodded. "Of course," she said, and they did.


	17. Fortune

AN: Merry Christmas/Yule/holidays, and happy new year!

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 **Chapter 17: Fortune**

 _Year 155 of the Sun, Hithlum_

Galadriel learned of the Enemy's attempt to attack Hithlum from the West almost by the way, from Findekáno, who sent her the image of his victory tinged with pride and happiness. She hurried North nevertheless – it might not have been a great battle, but there were still some who were injured, and she wanted to make sure the best possible care was available to them.

Her healing work was done quickly this time, and she was free to spend her time with Findekáno and her uncle. It was not as pleasant as it usually was, however – they were both arrogant in their defeat of Moricotto and confident that he posed no danger if this was what his attack looked like. To Galadriel, it seemed clear it was merely a test of their readiness and defences, and she worried what he might send the next time. The king and his son, however, refused to listen. "You both like to tell me," she said bitterly, "how you admire my wisdom, yet it does not show in you following my advice!"

"Come, niece, do not be bitter against us. You thought of the Siege of Angamando, after all."

Only I did not call it by such preposterous a name, the thought, but did not say. "Yes, but I think it is not a goal, it is an opportunity. The enemy does not sleep behind our guard, and neither should we. He is ever planning new ways to defeat us – and what are we doing?"

"I have to think of the people too, beloved," the king argued. "It is peace now, and they want to enjoy it. I cannot force them to only ever think of war."

"But when war comes, it will be too late already," Galadriel replied. Seeing, however, that her words were in vain, she left them and kept to the upper chambers of her house for some days, frustrated and worried, before she decided to visit Artaresto in Tol Sirion. She would be happy to see her nephew, she had not been there for a few years, she had faith that he, at least, would listen to her advice, and there, memories of Itarillë would be less pressing.

Artaresto welcomed her gladly, but as soon as she laid eyes on him, she could see there was something great on his mind. She did not turn to him often in her thoughts when away, for they were not so close and so it was not easy to communicate this way – the images he sent were ever unclear and confused. So now, as soon as was politely possible, she retreated to his chambers with him, to talk in privacy. "What is it that weights on your mind, dear nephew?" She asked. "It does not appear to be a bad thing, and yet it troubles you."

"Yes. I worry about your approval, though I believe I have some hopes of gaining it. You see, I have met my true love."

Galadriel's face was brightened by a radiant smile. "Does she feel the flame for you as well?"

"Yes."

"Then allow me to offer my warmest congratulations!" She embraced him and held him for a moment, smiling, before asking: "And how did you meet this lady?"

"She is of Fëanáro's host." Seeing Galadriel's astonishment, he hastened to add: "But she is not like him or most of his sons at all! Her loyalty is to Maitimo, which I hoped you could find value in..."

In truth, Galadriel's astonishment was mostly over the fact that Artaresto, of all that crossed the Ice, would be the one to choose a bride from the host of Fëanáro. Truly, Eru's intention in these things was clearly often that the couple balance each other out. "Have we known her in Aman?" She asked.

"No – we couldn't have. She is very young. She was born in Middle-Earth."

"Can I meet her?"

Artaresto's face brightened. "Yes," he said. "She is here at the moment, and will be for a few more days, before she is obliged to return to her lord. I will introduce you at the evening feast."

True to his word, he seated the lady of his choice next to Galadriel. The was tall and handsome, with somewhat austere features, and looked every inch a Nolde. "Aunt," Artaresto said, "meet Lady Ohtarwen, daughter of Lord Herúsea, one of the chiefest lords of our cousin Maitimo, Lord of East Beleriand. And Lady Otharwen, I introduce to you my aunt, Princess Artanis Nerwen, daughter of Arafinwë, the High King of the Noldor in Aman, and wife to Lord Celeborn of Doriath."

Galadriel smiled at the young nis at her side. "And daughter of Eärwen of Alqualondë, I would add, if I introduced myself in this way. Though it would probably tell you more about me if he said I was an advisor to King Ñolofinwë, and a friend – at least I would like to count myself as such – of your Lord Maitimo."

"I do not need Lord Artaresto introducing you to know who you are, my lady," the girl replied. "Your name is known among the Noldor, even in eastern Beleriand, and Lord Maitimo speaks of you often."

"Do I dare to ask what he says?"

Lady Ohtarwen smiled. "Only good things, I assure you. Mostly, he remembers you when he is faced with a difficult decision – or when someone around him does something foolish."

Galadriel laughed. "The second part does not sound so very good after all!"

The younger lady blushed a little. "Oh, that is not what I meant – he likes to imagine what you would say to such a foolish person. It consoles him, I believe, to know he would not be the only one to be worried by the folly."

"Perhaps I should go with you when you leave here and visit him – I could use that kind of company at the moment, since I have had quite enough folly myself!" Though Maitimo was, unfortunately, not guaranteed to be so very wise on all occasions.

"Go to the March of Maitimo?" Artaresto said, surprised. "But will not Lord Celeborn miss you? It is a long way off..."

Nerwen gave him an amused look. "Yes, thank you, dear nephew, I am aware. Celeborn will miss me, I am sure, as I miss him, but we will both cope. I cut my visit North short anyway, so this will simply be a substitution."

Artaresto subsided, looking a little sheepish, and Ohtarwen snorted. "I see the rumours about you did not lie, my lady," she said.

Galadriel turned her laughing eyes to her. "Seeing that you are here – and considering your name – I do not imagine you would be one to get tied down by this sort of concerns either. Is that your father-name or...?"

Lady Ohtarwen smiled. "No, a mother-name, actually. She said she saw it in me immediately."

"It is often like that, is it not? In my case as well." Earwen never truly understood her daughter, but she always knew what Nerwen was like.

"You are blessed with two names that fit you, I would say, my lady," the younger Nolde replied courteously.

"Thank you. I confess that I do like them both, and on occasion I was even sorry that father names are usually considered too formal to let people call you by them on a daily basis."

Ohtarwen nodded in understanding. "Have you ever considered choosing a name?"

"Well, I have a mother name. It is not truly done, is it? Besides, the name I considered at the age when such things are expected...it would have been wholly improper."

Lady Ohtarwen looked curious, but restrained herself from questions, and Nerwen smiled. "Perhaps one day, when we know each other better, I will tell you. But I am quite happy without it, and I have another name now as well – my husband named me Alatáriel."

"I stand corrected – you have three names that fit you very well."

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Nerwen did accompany Ohtarwen to Himring, and the journey was pleasant, spent in friendly communications. The lady had no great degree of wisdom, but she was strong and fierce, and seemed willing enough to admit that Artaresto had better judgement, except he tended to be too careful, something they lamented together with Galadriel. The princess thought that the two would work well together, and she would be a good lady of Tol Sirion.

Maitimo was pleased to see his cousin, though surprised as well – that, however, was nothing compared to the surprise Nerwen suffered when she asked to be introduced to Lord Herúsea, who was to be her kin by marriage soon. She took one look at his silvery hair, and astonishment flooded her. She remembered him from half a century ago, but she had thought it was merely Maitimo having a guest, and it certainly never occurred to her that this lord, of all, could be the one who was father to Artaresto's love.

She acquitted herself as well as she could of the polite small talk that followed, but as soon as it was possible, she took Maitimo aside.

"Lord Herúsea is a Teler?" She asked in astonishment.

"Yes. Well, a Sinda."

"But how...Artaresto said he was one of your lords?"

"He is. He swore allegiance to me."

Nerwen stared. "Does he know about..."

"About Alqualondë? Yes. Did you truly believe I would have accepted his fealty without telling him?"

"Forgive me, I..."

Maitimo sighed. "He was the chieftain of a relatively large settlement not too far from here when we first arrived. We were clearing the area of orcs, and arrived just in time to save him and his people from being slaughtered in an attack where they were outnumbered. He decided to swear his allegiance to me then, with some words of scorn for those who called themselves High King of the Sindar without lifting a finger to help them. Not even the truth about kinslaying changed his mind."

Galadriel mused about it for a moment. It was certainly a unique situation. "That still does not explain why he – and his daughter – have Quenya names. Or were they simply translations for my benefit?"

"No – he and his closest advisers accepted our culture to a large degree. He married a daughter of one of my lords very soon after he swore himself to me, and his children were raised in Himring."

"But technically, Lady Ohtarwen is a Sinda?"

"Not only technically – she lives mostly in their border fortress, with their Sindarin people around. She speaks both languages, and is part of both cultures."

Nerwen wished to see this place, and Maitimo took it as an opportunity to show her his lands, which she had not visited for half a century. "Of course," he said, "we do not have as much time for building and improving as Ñolofinwë does in his lands..."

Galadriel sighed. "I thought you would be of one mind with me, yes. You too, I expect, believe that we are wasting the time of peace if we are not preparing for war?"

"Yes. As much as you might not want to hear it, I miss my father these days – he would have been able to come up with some weapons that would keep our advantage, I am sure of it. Unfortunately, none of us have quite his skill, and the king seems unwilling to allocate much resources and many people to these experiments."

"I have tried to convince him, too, but he insists his people want to enjoy peace."

"They would be able to enjoy it longer if he bothered to prepare some good defences for when the attack comes."

Nerwen shook her head. "You do not have to explain this to me, Maitimo. I know it well. But the king and the crown prince are full of pride at their last defeat of the Enemy and feel safe."

"It is days like this when I wonder if I did the right thing, giving my kingship up to Ñolofinwë."

Galadriel gave him a sharp look.

"Oh do not look at me like that, Nerwen, in the end I always know I did. But it is...frustrating."

His cousin nodded. "For me also. When I was getting married, Uncle told me not to feel too responsible for the Noldor, that I was not their Queen..."

"...that must have gone over well," Maitimo muttered.

Galadriel laughed. "Oh no, he did not meant it like that. Effectively, he said they did not deserve me to worry over them, because they did not choose to follow me. However, it is not that easy. My loyalty cannot be broken, and I constantly think about whether it would have been different if I had not moved to Doriath."

"You spend a third of every year in the North anyway, as far as I know. It is not that much less than when you lived there and were visiting Doriath and other lands regularly."

"Maybe. I still worry."

"Unsurprisingly. Ñolofinwë was right in a way, but in his phrasing he was completely wrong. What he meant is that you are not our people's king – because you have effectively been their queen ever since we left Middle-Earth."

Galadriel gave him a confused look.

"Do not pretend you do not know what I mean," he said. "Anairë stayed in Aman, Findekáno has no wife, and Turukáno's died in the Ice, may the One forgive us our sins. Of your brothers, only Angaráto is married, and Eldalótë truly is the lady of Dorthonion, but as for the rest... Turukáno's people see Itarillë as their queen, but they keep themselves apart. For those of Ñolofinwë, Findekáno and Ingoldo, it has always been you."

"Rather unfortunate, is it not, that I wanted to be the king," Galadriel replied, understanding finally what he meant.

"Yes, but then, your mother has not called you Nerwen for nothing."

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Galadriel returned to Himring in a few years, for her nephew's wedding. It was traditional in all ways, except that it was the bride's father who put her hand in the groom's, not the mother. Galadriel commented on this when she found herself sitting next to Angaráto at the feast. "Had it occurred to me to speculate on this," she said, "I would have thought Lady Ohtarwen to be the kind to insist on no one giving her away, as I did."

This made her brother smile. "Perhaps you would have relented too, had your father been here. It is easier, I believe, to oppose your brothers."

"I see you do not remember the days of Valinor too well!" Nerwen said with a laugh.

"You are right, perhaps the cause is different and I should have said – had Ñolofinwë been your father. Lord Herúsea certainly does not lack in fire, in spite of being a Sinda."

"What did he think about the marriage, then?"

"I do not think he likes Artaresto very much," Angaráto admitted, "or me, for that matter, but he respects his daughter and the One too much to put up resistance. And he and Eldalótë truly like each other, I believe."

"And Lady Ohtarwen's mother?"

"Well." Angaráto paused. "She is...very clearly a Noldorin lady from Fëanáro's host. I confess I have not always found it easy, when we were in company with Ohtarwen's family, to...well. As I said, Eldalótë found much in common with Lord Herúsea, and of course Ohtarwen and Artaresto spent most of the time talking to each other, so I was expected to entertain Lady Tyulinis. It was a difficult task. She is proud, and full of fire."

"So rather like me, in fact?"

"Yes," said Angaráto candidly, "but you are my sister. In spite of all the differences between us, we have many shared memories, people we both love. Lady Tyulinis is as different from me as you are, but with no shared history to bind us together – and she does not, of course, quite have your wisdom. But then again, who does?"

With these words, Angaráto rose from the spot next to her and went to talk to some other guests, leaving Nerwen feel a little uncomfortable. Was there bitterness in his tone?

All of the sons of Fëanáro were present for the wedding, the first time Galadriel saw them together since the Feast of Reuniting. She had not missed them, and indeed, could have done without the pleasure even now, but the ceremony did take place in Himring. It would hardly have been feasible not to invite them, and if they had to be there, Galadriel would take the opportunity to observe, now that she was alone.

Her eyes turned to Macalaurë and Carnistir, who were talking to each other on the opposite side of the room. She was too far to hear, but she could see their expressions. Carnistir had a dark frown on his face, and was speaking to his brother clearly in anger. Macalaurë, on the other hand, was silent, an expression of immeasurable sadness on his face. Nerwen found this fairly typical, and it illustrated the different ways in which the brothers dealt with the tragedies of their lives. They were the only two among their siblings to be married, and she remembered Maitimo telling her that they got closer for that, often visiting with each other. But that, of course, had been before. Macalaurë's wife left him after Alqualondë – one of her grandmothers was from the Teleri and lived there. They said Quildawen turned back as soon as she saw Macalaurë plunge his sword in the first of their kin, long before Nerwen's own father made the decision. But then, he had only seen the tail-end of the slaying with his own eyes. They had not known, at the time, how it started. If Quildawen saw her own husband be one of those who began the attack...Galadriel was not surprised she had no wish to continue on this journey with him.

Carnistir's wife, on the other hand, died during the storm that caught Fëanáro's ships after the kinslaying. He had had a short temper even before, but ever since this – or so Maitimo said – his humour was so dark that even his siblings tended to keep away from him, as much as they tried to be compassionate. And, indeed, as she observed them now, Macalaurë turned away from his brother with a mournful look, but his brother caught him by the wrist, looking even more furious.

Her observation was interrupted by a loud bang, and her eyes turned to find the source of the noise. Tyelkormo. Of course. He had hit the table and was now standing, shouting: "I will not be relegated to a second-rate visitor in my brother' own house."

Nerwen rose fluently from her seat and walked speedily in his direction. Tyelkormo had taken a gulp from his goblet, giving her time to reach him before he said anything else. "What," she asked, in a voice that barely masked the steel behind it, "seems to be the problem?"

"Your thrice-damned brother-," Tyelkormo began, at volume.

"You are here," Nerwen interrupted him, in a quiet but intense voice, "as a favour to Maitimo. Insulting the father of the groom is extremely bad manners under these circumstances."

Ha laughed harshly, but sat back down. "As if I ever cared about manners," he said, and took another drink.

"No," Galadriel agreed, "but I do. So now – without the insults, if you may – what has my brother done to offend you?"

"He wants us to abandon the rooms we usually stay in, to make room for the 'chief wedding guests,' as he says," Tyelkormo said with a snort.

Nerwen raised her eyebrows. "And he told you so himself?"

"No – my own brother did. But it is clear where the wish comes from."

Her brows remained where they had been. "But surely – this is your brother's house. Not respecting his explicit wish in this shows first and foremost disrespect to him, not to Angaráto."

Atarinkë, who sat next to his brother and had been watching the exchange in silence until now, smirked. "Because you would care so much about any insults to out brother if they were not, at the same time, insults to yours."

She gave him an arch look. "I would venture a guess that more than you, at any rate."

Tyelkormo gave another loud laugh. "She got you there."

"True enough, I have little respect left for our eldest brother – though still more than for any of hers – but I have no illusions about her opinions. Cultivating an advantageous friendship is not quite the same as _caring_."

"You would do well, Atarinkë, not to judge everyone according to your own approach to life."

His smirk became more pronounced. "I was merely attempting to give you the benefit of the doubt. If you consorted with these cowards because of the advantage it brought you, that I could understand. But if you genuinely enjoy their company..."

"'These cowards?'"

"Ñolofinwë. Findekáno. Maitimo," Atarinkë fairly spat the names. "All the others who refuse to do anything at all about Moricotto!"

Galadriel tilted her head to the side. "Findekáno rescued your eldest brother - and king, at the time – from Angband while you hid from us on the other side of lake Mithrim. I find your use of the term coward...curious."

A spasm of pain went through both of the brothers' faces, and Atarinkë said through gritted teeth: "Do not rely on us hiding from you too much, dear half-cousin."

"We will rip the whole world to shreds if we have to, to fulfil our oath," Tyelkormo added.

Nerwen's eyes shifted to him. "You as well, cousin?" She asked. "Do you feel it burning inside of you as hot as your brother does?"

He laughed. "Every true son of Fëanáro does," he replied. "And we will have the armies of all elves one day to achieve it, by peace or by treason or by force."

But a vision came upon Galadriel in that moment, and she said: "You never will...but you _will_ rip the whole world to shreds in your attempts."

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The wedding of one of her relations made Galadriel think of another's desire for it, and so during her next visit of Narogrotto, she took the trouble of journeying all the way to Falas. Lord Ciryatan welcomed her as warmly as usual, but she was distracted and declared her wish to speak with his niece soon enough.

"Ah," he said only, and called a servant to direct her.

Ambë was sitting on a balcony in her rooms, overlooking the sea. She did not turn when Galadriel entered, but she said: "I've been expecting you. Please, do sit down."

Nerwen did so. "How's _Findekáno_?" The Sindarin lady asked.

"As well as can be, under the circumstances."

Ambë gave her a look. "Forgive me if it isn't _his_ well-being that's first on my mind, _under the circumstances_."

"You know, then."

"Of course I know. Did he expect I would never learn of it?"

"He...hoped, I think."

Ambë's mouth twisted in a bitter smile. "Such honesty," she said.

"It isn't easy to speak of this," Galadriel tried to explain. "It took me a great deal of courage to be open with Celeborn."

"Again, forgive me if I'm not feeling too sorry for you." Ambë paused. "I loved him, Galadriel!" She said then, with force. "I loved him, and I trusted him."

"And now?"

"Now...I don't know. Before I learned of this, I'd have sworn such evil couldn't be found among all the Children of the One. I...he can come to me, if he wants to speak with me again. He can beg my forgiveness for what he had done, and perhaps I'll grant it."

Galadriel heaved a sigh. "He can't leave the North for long enough to travel here, you know that," she said mildly.

"That is his choice, of course. I won't come to him – you can tell him that much."

Galadriel watched the Sindarin lady, pain in her heart. Ambë's words were laced with bitterness, and she saw that they were chiefly driven by disillusionment and disappointment. The Noldor, at least, had been prepared for the unspeakable evil of the kinslaying by watching the hatred fester the previous Valian decades. For the Sindar, finding out about it was like lightning coming from a clear sky, all the more dreadful for its unexpectedness.

Galadriel prayed that Ambë could forgive, because she knew that if the situation stayed as it was, she and Findekáno would never speak again.

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AN: The distinction Maitimo s talking about is sometimes termed regina vs femina rex by historians, regina being the wife of a ruling king and femina rex being a ruling queen. "Reginas" have a particular role in society as well, but it is very different from that of a "femina rex"…

Ohtarwen – Warrior maiden


	18. Enjoyment

**Chapter 18: Enjoyment**

 _Year 201 of the Sun, Doriath_

Not half a century after Artaresto's wedding, Galadriel was to attend another. Celeborn's brother Galathil was getting married, to a lady who was kin to his mother's people and who he met during his frequent visits to Neldoreth.

"Galathil had hoped they'd move to Neldoreth after the wedding," Celeborn confided in Galadriel, "but he was shocked to discover that Doroneth actually preferred to move to Thousand Caves."

Galadriel was glad of it. While no particularly strong friendship bound her to Galathil, who barely spoke a word to anyone and so was not an easy person to get to know, she liked his bride, and would be thankful for one more member of Singollo's court she could talk to.

The ceremony took place in the throne room, performed by the King and blessed by the Queen. Doroneth was a pretty bride and Galathil a handsome groom, proud as he took her hands to say the vows, which, Galadriel noticed, were a little different than those of the Noldorin tradition. The Valar played a much less crucial part in them. She should have, perhaps, expected that.

At the feast they were seated between Lúthien and Prince Elmo, and as Celeborn used the opportunity to discuss some political matter with his grandfather, Nerwen turned to her friend. "Did you enjoy the ceremony?" She asked.

"I was moved by the depth and strength of the vows, as I always am," Lúthien replied. "But if I was to marry, I'd wish it to be outside, in the forest."

"Imagine my surprise," Nerwen commented drily.

"No, but truly – how can someone choose these halls over the incomparable beauty of our forest in spring?"

"I suspect it feels like this to you because you grew up in these halls, and so you cannot fully appreciate them."

Lúthien shook her head. "I grew in the forest as much as I did in the Caves," she replied, "and I can still enjoy its beauty over and over again. That isn't it."

"Well, then Doroneth simply has different preference than you do."

The Sinda sighed. "I should have known you wouldn't agree with me – you enjoy being contrary in this matter."

Galadriel smiled. She did not enjoy being contrary, she truly loved the beauty of carved halls as much as she admired the one created by Yavanna, but Lúthien found that very had to believe or understand.

"But still your wedding took place outside, didn't it?" She continued, confirming that once again.

"It did," Nerwen conceded, "but only because my house doesn't have a room big enough to contain all of the guests."

Lúthien frowned at her. "Stop teasing me, Galadriel – I know you don't enjoy living in caves."

"No," the Nolde finally admitted, for that much was true, "but I don't detest it, and the forest is always only a few steps away."

"You still miss the open horizon of your Northern house."

"But when I'm in the North, I miss the forest." She paused. "You seem particularly insistent on this topic today. Why is that?"

"Because in preparation for the wedding, I've been kept inside for a long time, and it's making me miss the trees very bitterly."

"Ah," Galadriel said in understanding. The long time Lúthien mentioned was, as far as she knew, not above a week, but she also knew that was often enough for her friend. "Well," she continued, "I'm sure that after a few days, not one will blame you if you take at least a short walk outside."

Lúthien smiled at her. "Will you come with me?"

"Only if it takes no more than a day or two. I don't wish to be impolite."

Lúthien smirked. "Don't forget that I can see your mind – I know perfectly well that you want to know how long it will take Galathil and Doroteth to emerge from their bedchamber!"

Galadriel laughed. "Very well then. Yes, I am curious – this is the first Sindarin wedding I've seen, and I'm curious about the differences from the Noldorin ones. All of my relations assume the Sindar are less fiery, and I'm curious to see if it'll be borne out in this case at least."

"Isn't Celeborn enough of an answer in this?"

Nerwen smiled a small, secret smile, but then shook her head. "Well, he's a Sinda who married a Nolde. He's bound to be a deviation from the norm. The more fully Sindarin wedding I see, the more likely I'm to have a reliable answer."

"And why don't you simply ask some Sinda at court?"

Galadriel smiled. "Where would be the fun in that?"

Lúthien sighed. "Some of your hobbies," she said, "are truly obscure."

"Says the lady who can spend days staring at a single flower!"

"It's not as if you'd get bored doing the same," Lúthien pointed out. "It's simply that you always feel you have some responsibility to attend to, even if it's only entertaining my mother."

"Which is your fault – if you weren't out in the forest so often, I wouldn't feel so obliged to keep her company."

"What use are you to me in the forest if I am in the Caves myself?" Lúthien asked.

Her mother, who was sitting on the Princess' other side, turned to Galadriel. "There's no reason for you to cut your entertainment on my account," she said. "I'm always happy to see you, but you know that time flows differently to me. You can't stay away long enough for me to start missing you."

Galadriel blushed, and Lúthien laughed. "Don't ruin her excuse, Mother!"

"It's not an excuse, exactly," Galadriel defended herself. "I sometimes mention Celeborn and sometimes you when I leave Lúthien in the forest, but the reason is usually the same: I miss people when I am out there too long with only her. And I never hid my feelings about this," she added. "It is only that Lúthien doesn't usually look for them, being too caught up in something else."

Lady Melian smiled. "Do I hear criticism of my daughter in your words?"

"No! Truly, it wasn't intended as such." She smiled at her friend. "If I minded her love for all that grows, I could hardly be friends with her. And I do share the love, just not with the same...single mindedness."

"You know why that is," Lúthien said, serious now.

"Yes," Galadriel replied, feeling a little guilty for reminding the princess of how caged she sometimes felt in this world. The beauty of nature, she knew, could distract her. That, and her mother's memories – and Galadriel's. "I'll go out to the forest with you the day after tomorrow," she said, and Lúthien beamed at her.

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Some time later during the celebration, Nerwen found herself speaking with the newlyweds, Celeborn by her side.

"We will have a house at our disposal in Neldoreth as well," Doroneth was explaining, "but I'd simply much rather see Thousand Caves as our residence."

"My wife is charmed by these halls," Galathil commented drily.

"I am," she admitted freely. "But it isn't just that. They're also safer, should a war come."

"Do you have any particular reason to believe it should?" Galadriel asked curiously.

"Well, this cannot go on forever. From what I know, the Enemy is breeding orcs in his lands. Once he has enough, he will attack, and not even our Queen can withhold him forever."

Celeborn smiled. "I think you will get on wonderfully with our grandmother," he said.

Doroneth laughed. "I don't really intend to get involved in politics – it'd feel presumptuous, if nothing else. I mean, I've just moved here...And anyway, from what Galathil told me, I believe my opinions are actually closest to yours."

Celeborn raised his eyebrows. "I'm a little surprised my brother even knows what mine are, to be honest."

"I could have easily done without it, I assure you," Galathil replied, "but it is hard to ignore whenever you and Grandmother Ernil are in the same room."

"Don't be nasty," Doroneth said chidingly.

"He's not being nasty, I'm afraid," Celeborn replied with a rueful smile. "My and my grandmother's talks do tend to be rather monothematic."

"To be fair, it's not like I normally try to interrupt you," Galathil admitted.

"I don't think I've ever heard you interrupt anyone, my love," Doroneth said and pressed his hand.

"Speak of orcs and the orcs shall appear," Galathil muttered in that moment, and when Galadriel looked around to see what inspired this pronouncement, she noticed Lady Ernil heading in their direction. "Shall we dance, my love?" The groom asked his bride.

She laughed at him. "Don't be rude. At least speak a few words before you depart."

As it turned out, however, when Lady Ernil reached them, she said to the newlyweds: "Daeron is just preparing to sing a beautiful song composed for you. You should go and listen to it."

Obediently, they departed.

"I wasn't aware he composed songs about anything but Lúthien," Galadriel muttered.

"Very occasionally," Lady Ernil replied drily. "I wished to speak with you," she said then. "I know it is unseemly at a wedding, but unfortunately, Saeros plans to make use of the confusion of it to get the King to agree to some of his more ridiculous schemes, and so I'm forced to sink to his level once more."

"What is it, Grandmother?" Celeborn asked.

"I need your mother's influence," she said bluntly. "We need at least one more sympathiser. I need to convince either Amaron or Nanor not to support Saeros' proposal, but they won't listen to me, as you know very well. They might listen to you, however, and they certainly would listen to your mother."

"True, but my mother would know I was asking her on your behalf, so..."

Lady Ernil smiled. "Your mother knows very well you're not in my pocket. If you are willing to ask for this, she will know it's because you truly agree with me, and that will hold some sway with her."

"They you'd better tell me what it is about."

Lady Ernil launched into an explanation. Apparently, Saeros wished to turn Doriath into a fortress, and wanted to establish small fixed garrisons by the border to supplement the warden system that was in place now, in which there were always patrols on foot to be found just beyond the Belt. "It would require felling a number of trees to construct the keeps Saeros wants," Lady Ernil added, "so I think your mother might find a reason not to support the idea."

"She might indeed," Celeborn replied, "but why are you so firmly against it? It doesn't seem like Saeros' most offensive idea, to me..."

"And where do you imagine he wishes to pull the people for this guard from? Our contact with other regions of Middle-earth is to suffer for this. He wishes to cut down the number of envoys we have, to call back some of the garrisons we have provided to smaller settlements..."

"We hardly provide them with anything as it is!" Celeborn exclaimed.

"Well, yes, according to Saeros, if they wish to be safe, they can simply move to Doriath – we would be happy to welcome them."

"Does he also propose that Thingol gives up the title of High King of the Sindar?" Galadriel asked, her voice tinged with sarcasm.

Lady Ernil gave her a quick smile. "Not that I know of," she said, "but then again, sometimes I feel that the King would accept even that, from Saeros."

Celeborn sighed. "I will try speaking to mother," he said. "This shouldn't be too difficult."

"Thank you, beloved."

As Celeborn and Galadriel went in search of Lady Gelvil, she asked him: "Why would your mother's fraction be even inclined to side with Saeros in this? Do they not trust the Queen's protection?"

Celeborn sighed. "This has been an issue ever since people of Doriath learned about Alqualonde. Until then, they believed in Lady Melian's protection, but now Saeros has managed to plant seeds of doubt. What if some of the Noldor came in and decided to do something terrible? Are we certain the Belt would stop them?"

They were separated by the crowd for a moment, and when Galadriel found her husband again, she observed: "Not that I think this would calm the people of Doriath, but I assure you, if some Noldor managed to get in, it wouldn't be the trees they'd go after. So your mother's fraction really has no reason to worry."

"I'm afraid such assurances, even doubtful as they are, would not be simply accepted from you. To hear Saeros speak, you need our trees to prepare some sinister weapons of war."

Galadriel almost wished it was true, for that at least would mean they were preparing for the inevitable moment the Siege of Angamando would be broken, but she refrained from saying so aloud. No need to give more food to the anti-Noldorin sentiments.

"Leaving me aside for the moment," she said instead, "given that I actually live here and am, formally speaking at least, a subject of Thingol now...I would have thought that my brothers' visits would skew the perception of the Noldor towards a somewhat more peaceful image." She knew that the Sindar of Doriath distrusted her and feared her, to a degree; but how anyone could distrust Ingoldo or Angaráto was beyond her.

"Exceptions are made for the House of Arafinwë, as you know – the King makes them, and so the others do as well. That also means you're not seen as representative of your clan. They hear about your nephew's marriage to a Sinda and are glad, but they do not see that as an indication that the Noldor don't see themselves above us."

"Well, in this particular case, they're right not to – Lady Maethorwen is more of a Nolde than most of us, in spite of who her father is."

"I thought it was her son in whom you saw everything you ever wanted your family to be?"

Galadriel smiled in response. Artaresto's son Artanáro was, truly, a child after her own heart. He reminded her of Itarillë in many ways, not least of which was that he, too, was such a mix of his parents' characters that neither of them understood their child properly. That alone would have ensured him a claim on her heart, and he was so bold and inquisitive without being careless and foolish that she could not help finding particular love in her heart for him, as much as she sometimes felt guilty about it, because she knew she devoted more time to this child than she ever had to his father. And, what was worse, the father doubtless knew it as well. "He is," she said, in answer to Celeborn's question, "or I hope he'll be. That doesn't diminish his mother's fire in any way, however. But there's a better example for our lack of prejudice against the Sindar, and one that doesn't even come from my father's house – you know my cousin loves Amonel."

"I do, but they do not. If he chose to marry her, it would certainly help the perception of the Noldor among my people."

Galadriel sighed. "That is not the main reason he should make that choice," she replied, "but you know how the situation stands."

Celeborn seemed to wish to answer in some way, but in that moment, they finally spotted Lady Gelvil and he fell silent, not wishing to remind her of the Noldor when he hoped to gain her approval for Lady Ernil's suggestion. Galadriel bade him good fortune, and went in search of the Queen.

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Two days later, Galadriel finally found it acceptable to leave the celebrations and accompany Lúthien to the forest.

These visits were always very different from when she walked there alone, or with Celeborn. Not only did Lúthien know the forest better than anyone else Nerwen knew, but the forest loved her in a way it did not love anyone else. Doriath already contained flowers and trees more beautiful than the rest of Middle-Earth, thanks to Lady Melian's influence, but where Lúthien walked, the grass was greener, blossoms brighter and trees taller. And when she sang and danced, everything bloomed around her, and Galadriel could only stand and admire the immeasurable beauty.

They wandered like this for days, far enough from Thousand Caves, lost in song and admiration. Then suddenly, when they were sitting on the banks of a stream, Lúthien turned to Galadriel and said: "Will you take me back to Aman in your memories?"

"Of course," the Noldorin lady replied. She had done this many times, ever since that day Lúthien came upon her in the Queen's chambers. She was not quite a substitution for Lady Melian's mind, but she was second best.

Now, she took Lúthien's hands and showed her, once more, the gardens of Lórien and Lady Estë in them. She walked with her through the paths that were now lost to her, and tried to find comfort even as she gave it.

She realized she had never showed Lady Arien to Lúthien in the past, and so with a tinge of curiosity about her friend's reaction colouring her mind, she turned there, to the Trees and the bright Lady gathering the dew of Laurelin.

Unexpectedly, Lúthien slipped out of her mind. "She's the Sun!" She exclaimed.

Galadriel blinked. "Lady Arien, you mean? It's occurred to me already that the brightness is of a similar kind, but I think it's only wishful thinking on my part."

Lúthien, however, was shaking her head. "No, aren't you listening? She _is_ the sun."

"You mean...you can actually sense it?"

"Yes, of course! You cannot?"

"I sense...certain similarity, yes, but like I've said, I thought that was only my fervent wish..."

Lúthien frowned. "What a strange idea. Of course it is her. Ask my mother, she'll sense it as well."

Galadriel realized that she had, indeed, never done that. "I will," she said, "though I believe you, of course, it's just hard to...wrap my head around it."

"Around what?"

"That someone I knew – someone I spoke to many times – is now...well, a body in the sky."

Lúthien did not seem like this idea presented the smallest problem to her. "Well, she's a Maia, as you'd say," she pointed out. "I was chiefly surprised that you'd never talked about this, to be honest. It's very interesting. Do you think she could hear you, if you called to her?"

"I don't know – and there's no way to find out, really."

"Still, you should try – I'm sure she'd be happy to see you haven't forgotten your friendship."

"We were never exactly friends..." Nerwen muttered, still attempting to overcome the fact that she should be making sure she was not neglecting her social obligations to a heavenly body.

"Nevertheless. I could see you liked visiting her. You should talk to her from time to time. But now, allow me back in, I wish to see more of the Trees."

Galadriel was happy to oblige in this, and thy lost themselves for several more hours in the paths of memory. It was only when Lúthien came across the memory of Itarillë visiting Lady Arien with her that Nerwen gently pulled back.

"What is it?" Lúthien asked.

"This is too soon to the end," the Nolde replied. "To the darkness and pain. I don't think you wish to see that, and I certainly don't wish to show you, or remember."

"Well then." Lúthien smiled, unperturbed. "Let's head back."

She had never raised the topic of the kinslaying with Galadriel, and Galadriel was unwilling to do it herself. The princess had to know, of course – she saw Galadriel's mind – but never mentioned it, and never reproached her friend with a single word. The Noldorin lady accepted it as one of the princess' many unique character traits, and so now she smiled as well, and they left the stream to return to Thousand Caves.

On their way back, they came across Daeron. He looked a little guilty for some reason and Lúthien clearly wished to avoid him, but manners did not quite allow to do so, so they stopped. "What brings you out to the forest?" Galadriel asked after they exchanged greetings.

"I wished for some fresh air," he replied.

"In the midst of wedding celebrations?" She raised her eyebrows at him. "I understand it can be demanding to be the chief singer, responsible for all the entertainment, but..." She trailed off.

Daeron looked even more guilty now. "Well, the newlyweds are still in their chambers," he said, "so the demand for me is not high at the moment."

Galadriel gave him a very sceptical look. Wedding celebrations always lasted at least until the couple emerged again, and while some of the guests departed before that happened, it was certainly very strange for the chief singer to do so.

"Anyway," Daeron added, "I'll be heading back now."

Galadriel caught the flash of irritation in Lúthien's mind, but there was nothing to be done about it, Dearon would walk the rest of the way with them. They set off, and he turned to the Sindarin lady and asked: "And how are you on this beautiful day, my beloved princess?"

"Well enough, I thank you," she replied curtly.

"I have to say you looked marvellous at the wedding, a true joy for the eye."

Lúthien pressed her lips together, and Galadriel sighed. She understood why his open devotion made Lúthien uncomfortable sometimes, all the more so because she did not believe it to be true Flame. Galadriel sincerely hoped her friend was right, for the singer's sake. "Should one not especially praise the bride, on a wedding?" She asked.

"Of course," Daeron said quickly, "and I understand that, her being your sister, you would feel her elegance all the more. But I'm sure you'll forgive me if I say that no one, be it their wedding or not, can compare to my princess."

"Galadriel might forgive you," Lúthien said in a hard voice that it was very rare to hear from her, "but I might not. I don't wish to drive any attention away from the bride on her special day."

Dearon blushed. "Of course, my princess, forgive me. How was your walk in the forest?"

Lúthien's frosty façade immediately melted. "Very enjoyable, thank you for asking. There's a cluster of niphredil to be seen by the stream two days' journey from here, and they will only last a few weeks longer at most, so I warmly recommend you to go and see it."

Daeron smiled. "I'd dearly love to, but as your friend Lady Galadriel had reminded me, I'm needed at the wedding now."

Galadriel, who had never known Daeron to have any interest in the forest unless it involved Lúthien, mentally rolled her eyes. But the Sindarin princess was incapable of supposing someone would lie about their love for all that grows, and so she said: "I'm sure she'd forgive your absence if you had a good reason like this!"

With their eyes on her giving her no choice but to answer, the Nolde opted for the diplomatic: "I'm sure I have no right to judge Daeron's acts, and so there'd be no need for me to forgive anything."

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AN: Artanáro – Rodnor Gil-Galad

Maethorwen – the Sindarin version of Ohtarwen

Happy New Year!


	19. Loss

**Chapter 19: Loss**

 _Year 260 of the Sun, Tol Sirion_

Artaresto's marriage, as far as Galadriel could judge, was a happy one. The spouses completed each other's shortcomings, and there was only one topic of serious discord among them that she knew of – and that was Ohtarwen's devotion to fight. Training grounds were here favourite pastime, and Artaresto never begrudged her that, but she also saw it as her duty to ride out with Tol Sirion patrols from time to time o boost morale, and that worried him. Not entirely justly, in Galadriel's opinion, because even though every such task was by its nature always difficult, Ohtarwen was truly a great warrior, and so was in less danger than most. Artaresto had kept his objections to himself until his wife was expecting their first child. In his mind, that should have put a stop to her fighting, but she had only been willing to wait five years after the birth – long to her, short to her husband – before she returned to the guarding duty. At first she only rode out for short periods of time, but as Artanáro approached maturity, her missions grew longer and more dangerous, at least in Artaresto's eyes. Perhaps that was one of the reasons why he wished so much to have a second child, while his wife would have preferred to continue doing what she believed she did best. However, she relented after some years, and said that she would bear one more child before she would give herself over to her dangerous work once more. And so, Princess Findoiolosse was born, an image of her father as much as Artanáro was an image of his mother. She was sweet-tempered and kind, and reminded Galadriel strongly of Artaresto when he had been little. She loved her, but she did not try to disguise, from herself or from her nephew, that the chief reason why she visited Tol Sirion every year on her way North, and then again on the way back, was Artanáro.

He was almost a young adult now, skilled in the training field as well as in lore. Whenever his mother was home, she spent much of her time training him and it was she who told Nerwen – who was not fully capable of assessing such things – that she believed him to have the makings of at least as great a warrior as she was.

It had been during her last visit that Nerwen asked her nephew, holding Findoiolosse in her arms and watching Artanáro training, how he felt about that. "I do not truly understand the interest," he replied, "nor share his gift, as you know, but I am glad he has both. He is likely to be a leader of Elves one day, given his heritage, and not everyone can be so...fortunate...to have a wife capable of taking on this role for them."

Galadriel gave him a look. He sighed. "Yes, I worry and would prefer Ohtarwen to stay here," he said, "but I do realize that she takes on a role that would have otherwise fallen to me, and that she is better suited to it. It is just that..." he paused. "Sometimes," he muttered, "I wish we could simply return to Aman so much it almost hurts."

Nerwen pressed his hand. Of all the exiles she knew, it was his departure that she always regarded as the most unfair, along with Angaráto's, Elenwë's and Lord Laurefindil's father. These were the ones she knew never wished to go in the slightest and had only followed out of love or duty. Of them, only her brother and his son had survived, for blood of Finwë was not easy to conquer. Sometimes, though, she wondered if it would not have been kinder for them to die in the Ice.

But then she shook herself, for had Artaresto died in the Ice, he would not have met Ohtarwen and Artanáro would not have been born, and that was not something she could wish for.

All this had been a year ago.

Now Nerwen was visiting with them again, sitting with the family. Findoiolosse was on the ground, playing with her dolls, while Galadriel was debating the history of the Great Journey with Artaresto and Artanáro.

This was when the dreadful news came.

Artaresto suddenly froze in the middle of a sentence, horror filling his eyes. His mind was open in that moment, and in it Galadriel saw what he saw, through the eyes of his wife: some new, terrible monster of Moricotto crawling over the plains of Ard-Galen, and Ohtarwen fighting, covering the escape of her people to the mountains.

"What is it?" Artanáro asked, upset and confused. "What is happening?"

Galadriel turned from her nephew's mind and asked: "Your mother. Do you not sense it?"

Artanáro's panic seemed to grow. "I cannot reach her," he said, "her mind is closed to me."

That was when Nerwen understood Ohtarwen knew she would die.

And perhaps she was right in wishing to shield her son from watching her doom, and yet there was something that tore at the soul in watching the son try, again and again, to reach his mother, and in vain. Meanwhile, Artaresto watched her die.

It was in her last moments that she spotted the archers of Findekáno coming to help, and there was a smile on her face as she raised her sword for one last time. "Tell the children I am sorry," she whispered to her husband, and she was gone.

Artaresto's blue eyes turned dark at the vision, and he cursed the hour he allowed his wife to join the patrols again. Galadriel rose from the bench on which she had been sitting with Artanáro, trying to calm him. "This is grief talking, nephew," she said in a mild voice. She would have let him say what his hurting heart desired, but his son was listening and so it needed to be checked. "I understand your heart is bleeding, but even in this dark hour you should not believe that you could have kept Ohtarwen from her desire and been happy."

Her nephew turned his eyes to her, and for the first time in her memory, they were angry: "If it was not for the stubbornness of my wife, she would not have left a young daughter behind, to grow up without a mother."

Nerwen was getting a little angry herself now. "Do not forget, Artaresto, that it was you who pressed her into having more children while she felt that her task was elsewhere. It might have been a shadow of a premonition. Do not regret your wife's actions. She died a hero, and if she had not been there, many more of your people would have perished."

Artaresto, however, took Findoiolosse into his arms and left without a word.

Artanáro sat on the bench alone, bewildered and grieved.

His aunt lowered herself back to him and embraced him. "Was my mother wrong to go?" He asked in a lost voice.

"No, beloved. It was the hurt in your father that directed his words, but it will lessen in time and he will see how unreasonable he was today." I hope, she added mentally. "You will have to be strong for him. Go and grieve now, but always remember that your mother was a great Elf and that you should honour her memory until you meet again across the sea."

"...will you stay with me, Aunt?"

"Of course, dearest. As long as you want me to."

It proved rather more difficult to keep that promise that Galadriel would have thought, however. As it turned out, Artanáro might have wanted her there, but Artaresto did not. That Findoiolosse might go in her mother's footsteps became his biggest fear, and his grief, which was near to insanity, told him that Galadriel would try to ensure that. The Nolde was prevented from seeing her great-niece, and her mere presence in Minas Tirith was, it was made clear, merely suffered.

Still, she did not wish to leave. Artaresto had locked himself up in his chambers with Findoiolosse, and she could not leave Artanáro alone, not so soon. Yet Artaresto needed help, and as it seemed he had closed his mind from everyone, no help would come unless Galadriel called for it. So she lasted in Minas Tirith for six months before she went to Dorthonion to search out Angaráto and his wife.

She found the family in mourning. "How is he?" Angaráto asked in a voice full of emotion as soon as the officialities of her welcome were done with and they were inside his chambers.

"Not well," Nerwen replied bluntly.

Her brother nodded. "I feared that, when I could not sense him, but I was not sure..."

Galadriel understood. Angaráto would not have wished to impose, and so if he felt unwanted, he would not come. She was more surprised Eldalótë had stayed away. "In his grief and rage," she said, "he blames Ohtarwen...and he blames me."

"You?" Aikanáro asked incredulously.

"You know I have always supported her in doing what she felt she should be doing," Galadriel replied tiredly. Her worry about her nephew and is children had almost entirely taken over her grief for Ohtarwen, yet it was still there as well, and all of these things were preying on her soul and drawing her strength. "He has...well, he has forbidden me to speak to Findoiolosse, fearing that I would turn her into a warrior as well. In the months I stayed there, I did not succeed in changing his mind. In fact, I did not see him at all, and he hardly ever replied when I spoke to him through the door of his chambers. It is only thanks to his servants that I know he still lives."

"If only Ñolofinwë did something, this would not have happened," Eldalótë said angrily, pacing the room. "He felt so sure his Siege was unbreakable, and my son's family has to pay for it! Only because he is further from Moricotto than we are, and so the danger does not appear as real to him! Are we driven to taking the sons of Fëanáro as out allies, because only they are close enough to the danger to see it? The king or his son do not ride out to take part in the Siege – they know nothing of what we face!"

"I will go to Hithlum from here, as you go to your son. I promise to deliver this message to Uncle, for I quite agree with you. We need to be getting ready for the Enemy."

"You wish we would attack?" Angaráto asked in a worried tone.

"Perhaps not," Nerwen replied. "But I certainly wish we would prepare. We have now seen a definite proof that Moricotto is, indeed, developing new weapons. We must try and attempt to keep up with him. Surely that much is clear."

It turned out, however, that it was not. Because while Dorthonion and Tol Sirion were grieving, the mood in Hithlum was triumphant.

"You have seen this new monster Moricotto is breeding," she she told her uncle as soon as she was alone with him. "What is to be done about it?"

He sighed. "Beloved, I understand that being with your nephew, the event hit your hard, and my heart goes out to him...but it was truly not dangerous. Findekáno's archers overcame it quite easily, once we got over the fright."

"Do you not see that he is testing us?" Nerwen asked in frustration.

"You said that the last time, too, and if this is what he learned from his last defeat, then we truly have nothing to fear," he replied, offering her wine.

It was beyond unbearable, to hear such words after she had witness the raw grief of her close kin. "I wish I could share my foresight with you for a short moment, so that you knew why I speak as I speak," Nerwen said, anger creeping into her voice.

"Your foresight, beloved, tells you that we cannot prevail against the Enemy in any case," her uncle replied in an arch tone.

Galadriel had to keep a very tight hold on her temper not to explode. "We cannot win without the help of the Valar, true," she said through clenched teeth. "But how long this peace shall last depends on us, and if we do nothing, it will not be much longer."

Her uncle shrugged. "I cannot make my people all think of war again, not after they have seen how weak their enemy can be."

Galadriel departed in anger. Why did Eru give her her foresight, if no one was willing to listen to her?

Her steps led to Findekáno next, in weak hopes of finding a more sympathetic approach there. But he was, of course, as unshakeably optimistic as ever.

"Surely you cannot believe the Siege will last indefinitely?" Nerwen asked him, frustrated.

"No – it was broken just a few months ago, was it not? But I do believe that we will, with the help of the One, handle anything that gets through, and continue to hold on."

He was looking at her with his cheerful grey eyes, and she knew that there was no convincing him, and all fight went out of her. She collapsed into one of the comfortable chairs in his chambers, and exhaled. "It is tiring sometimes," she said quietly. "I feel like I am fighting everyone, all the time."

He was by her side immediately, taking her hand. "Is there trouble between you and Celeborn?"

"Oh no," she replied with a weak smile. "Not there. The rest of Doriath is harder, though."

Findekáno only nodded, and there was a short silence between them before she said: "I want to tell you about my talk with Ambë."

The light in his eyes dimmed somewhat, but he stayed silent. She had mentioned her visit to him as soon as she saw him after it happened, but he had entreated her not to speak of it. Perhaps now he felt he owed her to listen, or perhaps he missed his love so much that even hearing of her seemed like a balm. Whatever the answer, he did not stop her, and so she continued: "She knows. She said that if you come to see her in Falas, she might forgive you."

"I cannot go to Falas," Findekáno replied in a voice laced with pain.

"I told her that. She answered that you certainly cannot count on her coming to you."

He sighed and walked to the window. "Perhaps it is better this way," he said. "The other reasons I had for not believing pursuing the relationship was the right choice still stand, and this...makes it easier."

"Beloved, please..."

"It is you who say that the enemy will destroy us soon-"

"I did not say it was going to be soon."

"- so why would you wish for me to drag Ambë into it?"

"And you think he will spare her if she is not married to you?" Galadriel asked, her anger threatening to resurface once again.

"Not from death, no. But she might be spared some pain and despair."

"Findekáno, I saw her personally and trust me, she is not happy and cheerful now. It is tearing her apart."

"What I did is tearing her apart, not my absence," Findekáno retorted sharply, and Nerwen found it difficult to answer that.

"The doom of Mandos," Findekáno muttered under his breath. Galadriel rose from her chair and walked to him to stand close behind and look out of the same window. There, she started to quietly sing the Noldolante, and as she went on, he fetched his harp and accompanied her, and they both remembered.

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In great need of some wisdom and calmness to settle her, Galadriel spend even more of her time than usual with Lady Melian after her return to Doriath, and after some months, convinced Celeborn to finally go with her to see Lord Ciryatan.

Their way led naturally through Narogrotto and they stayed there for a few weeks, enjoying the hospitality of Ingoldo. Galadriel would have spent more, but she knew Celeborn was uneasy there. While Ingoldo was kind to him, she was always treated as the queen of Narogrotto on her visits, and that put her husband in a difficult position, because what are you if your wife is the queen, but you are not the king?

Before they left, however, he needed to arrange the details of some trade deal between Doriath and Narogrotto with Guilin, Ingoldo's Chief Councillor, which gave Nerwen an opportunity to complain to Ingoldo about their uncle's passivity. "You speak like Aikanáro and Angaráto," her brother replied, making Nerwen wonder if he intentionally used that comparison as an invective. "But Uncle is right, beloved. It is peace, and if we are all going to be destroyed in Moricotto's fire one day – as I believe we will, unlike the High King – is it not better to enjoy these days of light when they last?"

"But I did not ask him to attack Angamando. I merely wish he would try to think of better ways to fight, as the enemy is doubtless doing – we have seen the proof of that!"

"But when we turn our minds to that, we cannot find joy in peace, you know that. Do not take the golden years away from us."

Ingoldo's naiveté, Galadriel thought, never disappoints. She should perhaps have expected this. The more cynical part of her mind added that Eldalótë was right – Ingoldo, too, was comfortably far from Angamando, and so could afford to be calm. It was time to depart for Falas, before she argued with her brother as she had with the king.

Lord Ciryatan welcomed both her and her husband, and heard her grievances with patience. "King Fingolfin is unwise in not listening to you," he said, "but I'll not copy his mistake. I thank you for the warning, and we'll try to improve our defences as much as we can, though we are no Noldor."

"I'd have liked to promise you my brother's help, but he's of the same mind as the king. Indeed, everyone seems to be, except the two youngest of my brothers, but those are too far away to be of any help to you."

"Everyone? Even the sons of Feanor?"

"No; Maedhros would like to do something, but he can't do so alone. Some of his brothers, too, long for war, while others...he didn't say so outright, but I gathered some of them have grown rather comfortable in their realms, and wouldn't like to go to war either."

"Then I will have to make do with what I have, because Maedhros is even further than your brothers, and King Thingol is safe behind the girdle of Melian and doesn't send his people to battles outside his kingdom. But we're far from Angband, so I have hope that my preparations will be enough."

Then, he turned to Celeborn. "You wife first mentioned the two of us should meet when she was scandalized by my critique of some of the steps of the Valar. So I take it you didn't understand why your grandfather wasn't given the chance to cross over either?"

Galadriel left them to their discussion. To her, it still seemed dangerous to listen to it. Maybe it was not so for them, but she knew what pitfalls her pride had, and felt safer wandering the shores alone, remembering the West.

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She returned to Tol Sirion in a year, to discover that she had been missed bitterly by Artanáro. While Artaresto's anger had cooled somewhat under the calming influence of his father's mind, he was far from healed. He became even more quiet and reserved than before, and his son felt lonely and a little like his father abandoned him. Eldalótë and Angaráto were so frequent visitors to Artaresto's land now that it was hardly ever without one or the other of them, but they spent most of their time trying to help their son in his grief, as well as comforting the little girl who lost her mother, and did not have much time left for noticing their grandson, who, after all, seemed to be doing so much better. Galadriel could understand that, and after all, if Artaresto did get better, he would then be in a position to help his son through his mourning...but, nevertheless, she hurt for Artanáro.

She did what she could while she was there, and ran races with him and discussed books and remembered his mother, of whom, she discovered, Artaresto now never spoke. But even when the young nér became momentarily cheered, Galadriel could see the oppressive atmosphere Minas Tirith had gained claiming him again in a matter of hours.

Watching this process repeat for a week, and discovering that Artaresto still did not wish for Findoiolosse to be in her company and that he himself – and his daughter as well – were now being comforted by Angaráto, she accepted that Artanáro was her chief responsibility at the moment and acted accordingly. She went to Artaresto and asked for leave to take his son to Hithlum.

He looked at her with his dead eyes. "So it is not enough that your encouragement and advice took my wife from me?" He asked. "You would take my son as well? Verily it is a good thing I keep my daughter from you."

Galadriel swallowed all of she sharp words she wished to say, drawing strength from her compassion, and replied: "I wish to help your son, Artaresto."

"In what? In becoming more like the Ñolofinwëans you love so much?"

Angaráto, who was present for the talk, sighed, rose and put a hand on his son's shoulder. "Artaresto," he said, "you cannot speak like that, not even when you are in pain."

"Why not?" He asked. "You know as well as I do my aunt prefers the company of the king and his son to her own brothers."

"As is her right. We each choose our own company, and my eldest brother had his best friend in a son of Ñolofinwë as well. I had many friends among the Teleri," he added, and the pain of the loss sounded in his voice. "It is nothing to be ashamed of."

"Perhaps," Artaresto replied, still bitter, "but it means she has no right to my son."

"I love your son as dearly as I love my closest friends," Galadriel spoke again. "I am sorry if it pains you that I did not give the same love to you, but I swear I only wish for him that which is the best."

"As you did for my wife?"

Angaráto interjected his calm voice once again. "Why do you wish to take my grandson to Hithlum, sister?" He asked.

"I believe he needs to leave Tol Sirion for a time," she replied. "Sometimes being distracted from grief is best, and seeing the world could help in this. Our uncle and Findekáno are both pleasant company and ideal for this, I believe, as they are compassionate without being too introspective. A stay in Hithlum could help him to grow into his full potential."

"And when you speak of stay, how long do you intend?"

"I would advice to leave Artanáro there for a year, and I would bring him back with me when I next come North. But if my nephew does not wish that, then at least let him stay the usual four month with me, and I will bring him back on my way to Doriath."

With Angaráto's help in persuasion, Artaresto agreed to the second in the end, and after Artanáro was consulted and showed enthusiasm for the plan, they prepared to depart.

He had visited Dorthonion and Himring before, but never Hithlum, though it was nearer. His father was not close to the King's family, and had not visited there since his son was born. So now the young lord was amazed by the splendour of the royal court hiding behind the mountains and the stern walls of border fortresses. "It is much nicer than Himring," he said, surprised.

"Yes," Galadriel agreed, somewhat bitterly. "And it is still nothing compared to Thousand Caves or Narogrotto – or, I imagine, the Hidden City. The more secure one is from the Enemy, the more comforts and luxuries one can afford."

The High King welcomed them in his entrance hall, giving Artanáro all the honours due for his first visit. Even Findekáno rode from Dor-Lómin to see them in the palace, and to accompany them on the way to Galadriel's house later.

"Uncle," Nerwen said as the young elf bowed formally, "allow me to present to you Artanáro, whom his mother called Gil-Galad in Sindarin in honour of her father's people, son of Prince Artaresto, Lord of Tol Sirion, and Lady Ohtarwen, and my great-nephew. And Artanáro, allow me to introduce Ñolofinwë Arakáno, High King of the Noldor in Middle-Earth and my uncle."

Ñolofinwë smiled and extended his hands for Artanáro's. "Welcome," he said, "and let this be the first of many visits. Not let us go in, the feast awaits."

Both the king and Findekáno were predisposed to like Artanáro because of Nerwen's recommendation, and like him they did. Artanáro, in his turn, was charmed by his great-uncle and second cousin, both so different from his own father and reminiscent in some way – mainly Findekáno – of his mother. Watching him with them, Galadriel hoped they could provide the counter-influence to his father, now Ohtarwen was no longer here to do so.

Artanáro was still too young to ride into battle, but he was good with a sword on the training grounds, and during the fortnight they stayed in the palace, Findekáno made time to train him, sometimes with the king's assistance, too. In the evenings, they talked about tactics and strategy, and for this, Galadriel joined them, arguing with her cousin and uncle more often then not.

"You are confusing me," Artanáro complained after one such argument, especially long.

"Good," Nerwen replied ruthlessly. "It would not do for you to imagine there is only one right way do to things, and that everyone will always agree on it. If Maitimo or your uncle Ingoldo were here, you would hear yet different opinions from them, and Lord Ciryatan, I imagine, would say something else entirely."

"Not to mention Turukáno and King Singollo," Findekáno added, pouring wine for all of them.

"Turukáno and Singollo have made it clear, I think, that they will have no part in our attempt to restrain the Enemy, so their opinions can be effectively discounted until such time that they decide to join us again."

"You are harsh today, beloved," the king commented.

"Yes," she admitted. "My mind is troubled – has been for a long time – and while I am frustrated by your passivity, it is nothing compared to how I feel towards Turukáno and Singollo. With their help, we might very well be able to attack Angamando – not to defeat Moricotto, mind you, but to destroy all of his lesser servants, so that it would take a long time for him to build a new army – but they are hiding away instead."

"Do you not think they have the right to protect their people?" Her uncle asked.

Galadriel frowned. "Responsibility for your folk is all well and good, but we choose to live in this land and that means we have some responsibility for it too. This is not Aman, when the only thing that lay on our shoulders were our own houses and children, because the Valar were the rulers of those lands. We have to take care of Middle-Earth, unless we want the Enemy to become its king. I see nothing wrong in building a secret refuge for your people, for the weak and the children and the wounded, and a place where you can retreat if war goes badly. But as long as we have some strength left, we have responsibility for these wild realms we choose as our home. We wrestled the stewardship of these lands from Moricotto, now we have to show that we are better lords than him. And what of the mysterious second Children of Illúvatar, who are to come at some point in time after us? Does it not matter what world we will give them to be born into?"

"But is it not the job of the Valar to protect the plants and animals here, and the second Children, when they come?" Ñolofinwë insisted. "Is it not truly merely the people who came with us that we are responsible for?"

Nerwen considered this. "Valar do not intervene here directly, for reasons only they know," she said at length. "There are the eagles of Lord Manwë and the ents of Lady Yavanna here, to provide some degree of protection, but we boasted before them that we can rule ourselves, before we left Aman. That does not mean hiding in a hole, as long as there is any other choice. If we wanted to hide, we should have stayed in Aman."

"I told you once," her uncle said with a small smile, "that you should not feel too responsible for the Noldor. Now, I can see you feel responsible for much more."

"Yes," she agreed with a sigh, and took a sip of her wine. "You left the West for different reasons, to protect your people, and so I understand why you do not entirely agree with me – and yet you do more in this direction than Turukáno or Singollo. But I, I left because I felt I was fit to be a queen. If I did not care about what happened to the lands of Middle-Earth just beyond the borders of the place where I lived, I would have failed in the challenge I laid myself, at least in my eyes."

"But you wished to have a realm of your own to care for. What gives you the feeling you should treat the whole of Middle-Earth as such?"

"Someone should."

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AN: Well, you knew the last chapter was simply too happy to last.

Findoiolosse – Finduilas, as you probably could have guessed.


	20. Curiosity

AN: Warning: Some metaphysics here. Not too much, but canonical afterlife in Tolkienverse is discussed.

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 **Chapter 20: Curiosity**

 _Year 311 of the Sun, Doriath_

The last half a century had not been a precisely cheerful one.

Galadriel still felt grieved over Ohtarwen, and worried about those she left behind, especially her nephew. Artaresto was still unhealed, and though there was some improvement over the last years, and he was now taking some interest in ruling his lands again, the healer in her knew he was unlikely to be cured entirely entirely on this shore, and that it was only his children, especially Findoiolosse, who were keeping him from fading.

Not that Artaresto had turned against Artanáro entirely, something she had feared for a while. But there was a new coldness there, more distance than before. Artanáro felt it as well, and missed his father. In some ways, he had lost both parents at the same time, and Galadriel tried to give him all the more of her attention for that and took him with her to Hithlum whenever she could. He had recently taken on his first responsibilities in Tol Sirion, though, so it was less often than before – and Galadriel saw that he missed that as well. Friendship had grown quickly between him and Findekáno and Ñolofinwë, and every time Artanáro could not go with her, he entreated her most earnestly to give his regards, and letters. While Galadriel though it a good thing that he was given responsibilities he was so well suited to, his desire to see his relations tore at her and she had to sternly remind herself that he was not a child any more, and should not be treated as such.

And then there was Findoiolosse. A young lady now, the loss of her mother at such an early age and her father's following overprotectiveness left its marks on her. She was shy and almost fearful, and in Galadriel's presence barely ever spoke a word, even though Artanáro assured her it was better when she was not present. "She fears you, I think," he said, "and even to me, she does not always speak plainly. But with Father and her friends, she can be open and cheerful, and she is one of the few things that can bring a smile to his face." So Galadriel had to accept that, and trust in others in the family, especially Eldalótë, to provide for the young girl in a way she could not.

Because of all of this, her mind was far from easy, and in addition, she was worried about her brother now. Her eldest brother, to be precise.

After her last visit to Narogrotto, he went with her to Thousand Caves and then continued east, planning to see Maitimo and Macalaurë, and later Angaráto, Aikanáro and Artaresto, visiting the High King before he returned home via Thousand Caves again, to take his sister with him.

It had now been over a year.

She had visited Hithlum and Tol Sirion in between, and Dorthonion, too, and did not worry when they told her Ingoldo had not appeared yet – it simply meant that he got held up by Maitimo and would appear a little later.

However, she was worried now, because it was quite a bit later already, all images she received from him in her mind were strangely jumbled, and she understood from Findekáno that he still had not appeared in their lands. So she was rather amazed when Lady Melian told her that she sensed him waiting at the eastern borders of Doriath – what made him change his plans and not journey North? And why was he not coming in?

She set out to meet him in the forest, and once she did, her amazement grew at the sight of the creature that was with him

It was clearly no elf, and yet he looked like one, much more so than like a dwarf or orc or any other being she had ever encountered in Middle-Earth. So that meant it had to be... "The Second-born?" She whispered.

"Yes, sister," Ingoldo replied in Sindarin. "Allow me to introduce Bëor, head of one of the great houses of the Second-born – or so he was before he pledged his service to me. And Bëor, my friend, this is my sister, Princess _Artanis_ _Nerwen_ , in Sindarin known as Galadriel, wife of Lord Celeborn of Doriath, this realm at borders of which we are, and daughter of Finarfin, High King of the Noldor beyond the Sea."

Bëor bowed very low, and he said in a rather shaky voice: "It's an honour to meet you, my lady."

She smiled at him, because he seemed so nervous, and said: "And I'm honoured to meet you. We've been expecting you for a long time."

"I'll be going to Nargothrond with Bëor now," Ingoldo said, "because I don't expect King Thingol would let him enter, and I'll not leave him alone outside. Will you accompany us?"

"I have to take my leave of Celeborn, but if you're going around, then perhaps we can meet at the south-western border?" Galadriel replied, thinking quickly.

"Look for us where Sirion leaves the forest," her brother affirmed and they parted, Galadriel hurrying back to Thousand Caves to share these great news.

Singollo seemed rather worried than pleased, and asked her to tell her brother to come and discuss this new development with him after he sees to everything he needs to in Narogrotto. Queen Melian's eyes took on a distant look and Galadriel saw that she was looking into future, silent. Lúthien was out in the forest somewhere, and so of those who heard what she had to say, Celeborn and Lady Ernil were the ones most interested. They preferred to wait for her to bring them more news before they decided whether he wanted to go and see those wondrous beings for themselves, however, and so Galadriel set out alone.

She met Ingoldo where he promised she would, and accompanied him to his kingdom, listening to his tale of finding the Second-born on the way. Ingoldo sometimes encouraged Bëor to add his own point of view, but he only ever did so very reluctantly and nervously, which seemed very strange to Galadriel, for did not Ingoldo say that Bëor was, or used to be, a head of his own house? A ruler of people?

"Have you discovered," she asked her brother, not wishing to bother Bëor if speaking was so uncomfortable for him, "in what way they are so different from us, that they're a separate people in Eru's mind? Bëor looks a little different, true, but surely that alone wouldn't have been enough? It's not that much more than the difference between the Sindar and the Noldor, for example."

"The most important difference, without a doubt," he said, with a glance at Bëor, who kept silent, "is that their spirits aren't bound to Arda."

Galadriel frowned. "What do you mean?"

"They don't have it in their nature to last as long as the world does. Instead, they pass away in time – they can be killed, like we do, but if they aren't, they can die of old age."

"Of old age?"

"That is what they say, though to us it would certainly not be old – if one of them lived a hundred years, they'd consider him a long-lived miracle."

Galadriel stared, astonished. "A hundred years of the Sun?" She asked, to make sure.

"Yes."

"But that's...that's barely enough time to grow to adulthood!"

"Not for the Second-born – their children, I've observed, grow much more quickly, and are as adult at fifteen as ours would be at fifty."

"Still, that only gives them eighty years or so of full maturity!"

"Less than that, in most cases," Ingoldo admitted. "About fifty or sixty, and that, they say, only since they came to Beleriand."

"And then – what? If you say that their spirits aren't bound to Arda, I assume they don't go to the halls of Mandos, nor do they gain a new body."

"We can't know this for sure, of course, but they don't believe so, and if they were to do so, what would be the point in their dying? And there's something else, too – there's a difference, when you look at them, in the way they regard Arda. The best way I can describe it is that it's as if they were merely guests here, meant for different places, and this world was but a brief stop for them."

"But where, where do they go?" Galadriel insisted.

"I don't know."

"And what can the One intend by giving them such a short life? A hundred years – it's like the blink of an eye!"

"We believe, my lady," Bëor spoke unexpectedly, in a quiet, hesitant voice, "that it wasn't originally like that. We believe that we, too, were meant to be deathless, like you, but that the Nameless one has put this curse of death on us."

"Nameless? Do you mean...?"

"They mean Morgoth by this – they never name him," Ingoldo interjected.

Galadriel shook her head. "I can't believe that. Changing the fate of Children of Illúvatar isn't something he could do."

"Isn't it? His power is great..."

"But only over things that are in this world. Our souls come from beyond it, and so, I'm sure, do yours."

"But our bodies are of Arda."

"And so he could destroy them, and he does, and he could make your grow weary more quickly, as he does to us, but he couldn't prevent you being reborn, and he couldn't make your spirit leave the world. No, this is no work of Morgoth...but if it's the work of the One, then I don't understand it at all."

"You say yourself that he might have shortened their lives," Finrod pointed out. "If they lived longer at the beginning?"

"And how long would have been enough? Two hundred years, five hundred, a thousand? After how long would you yourself consent to leaving the world forever? No, that's not the answer. It might well be true – for a hundred years truly seems very short to me – but it isn't the answer."

And Galadriel did not speak much for the remainder of the journey, or, indeed, during her entire stay in Narogrotto.

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After she returned to Thousand Caves, Ingoldo went with her to tell what he knew of the Second-born to Singollo. "The king was not as pleased by the news as we were," he told her once the audience was over, and Galadriel almost snorted. "He seems unreasonably upset about these Second-Born."

"Did he tell you why?"

"No. But..." He hesitated. "I was put in mind of the talk that could be heard in Aman before we left."

Galadriel remembered well what kind of talk he meant. That the Second-born were to take the land that rightly belonged to the elves from them. A bitter jealousy of a race they had not known yet. Her comparison of Singollo to Fëanáro sprung to mind once again, but she pushed it away. Ingoldo disliked hearing it, she knew. "What reason does he have?" She asked. "Surely he cannot worry that they will take his land from him, with Queen Melian's protection around it."

Ingoldo stopped his pacing around her chambers to look off into the distance. "No, but...he did not exactly say so, but you know I can see his mind..."

Galadriel nodded. Ingoldo was one of the very few who could – she suspected only the Queen, Lord Elmo and Lúthien. "What I saw," her brother continued, "was unclear, but it seemed somehow connected to Lady Melian."

Galadriel cast her mind back. "It is true," she said, "that I have seen her look somewhat concerned after I told them of the Second-born. It was some sort of premonition, but I do not know what. I can try asking, though I believe that had she wanted to tell me, she would have done so already."

"Nevertheless, do try. I wish to know what troubles King Elwë so. He must have a reason."

Galadriel did not reply. There was no sense in arguing.

She did go to Lady Melian once Ingoldo departed North to inform their uncle and the others, and just as she had expected, she did not learn much. "I've seen what the future will bring in regards to that, yes," the Queen said, "but I'll keep it private for now, and ask you not to look for it in my mind. I haven't even told the King."

"Then your warnings aren't the reason why he is so concerned about the Second-born?"

"My warnings, no. But while I can conceal the content of my visions, I can't conceal from him that I've seen, and not knowing what makes him fearful. Yet I can't tell him."

Galadriel accepted that. No doubt Lady Melian knew what she was doing, and she was impatient to discuss her observations of the Second-born with Celeborn anyway, so she left the Maia soon after that to find her husband. "So?" He asked, after welcoming her properly.

Galadriel told him of the scandalous discovery of the short lives and mysterious death of the Second-born.

"Well," he said after a moment's reflection, "if their souls are not bound to Arda, there's only one place where they can go."

He was, of course, right. Only the idea was so shocking she had been avoiding it until now. She had felt it in the back of her mind, festering, but avoided voicing it even to herself.

"Surely that wouldn't be fair?" She said. "Why would our souls be bound to this world for thousands of years, made to wait for Arda being remade, while they could join their creator after so short a time?"

"And would you leave the world so joyfully?" He asked with a raised eyebrow.

"Not for nothingness," she replied, "but to be with The One? Not, perhaps, when I was young, but now?"

"Truly?" He gave her a very penetrating look. "You love the world, my love, as do I. I know the idea of The One waiting for us with his arms open is alluring, but be honest with yourself and imagine having to leave all of this behind. Would you be willing?"

Galadriel stood for a moment, looking into her heart, and then she slumped into Celeborn's arms. "No," she muttered. "No, I wouldn't. Do you...do you think he blames us for it?"

"No," he said decisively, and led her to a sofa where they both sat down. "He made the Second-born unattached to this world, not us. He must have had some purpose with that."

"Yet that purpose," she replied, "was no doubt made with Arda Unmarred in mind. What does it say about me – about us – that we love it as it's now?"

"It's still his creation, my love, his and that of the Valar. By loving it, you're fulfilling the calling he gave us. We aren't the Second-born, for better and for worse. Don't wish we were – for that _would_ be blasphemy."

Galadriel put her head on his shoulder and pressed his hand. "Thank you," she said. "You keep me steady on my course."

"And you me," he replied.

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Galadriel attempted to go on with her life in Thousand Caves, but she was burning with curiosity and so, a year later, she met with Ingoldo and Bëor on the eastern border of Doriath once again and went to visit the camps of the Second-born.

There, she understood better the things Ingoldo had said, and that she could not understand from only seeing Bëor. Their whole approach to the world was truly different, and not only because they knew their time was so short. It was difficult not to see them as impatient and in some ways like children, that they would grow bored of one thing so soon and turn to another – and yet they did so much more quickly than even the youngest of elven young. Their judgements tended to be snap, but their thinking was quick, and sometimes they took only a short time to come to a decision it would have taken elves hours to consider. It was not always the right decision, but often it was just as good as one the High King's council could have come up with, and, after all, the Elves were far from being always right.

Their songs seemed coarse and their poetry unpolished, but then, they were poor people living in camps on the edges of Beleriand. Galadriel knew nothing of the culture of the Silvan elves, but rather thought she might have found some things in common, had she ever travelled beyond the mountains to find out, or even to Ossiriand.

Yet there was something else as well, something separate. A shadow lay upon them, and sometimes she though this was what had attracted Ingoldo to them so much, what arose his love and interest – for they seemed not unlike the children of Arafinwë in being aware of a dark deed in their people's past which they kept secret, even though they themselves took no part in it. Bitter regret lay on their hearts, and they never wished to talk about their lives east of the mountains. At least for us, Galadriel though, Aman had centuries of happy memories before the darkness came.

She found it hard, too, not to adopt Celeborn's view of the Valar when she heard that the Second-born had never met them. What did this race ever do to deserve being kept without the light that guided elves to Valinor? Did the Lords of the West think that with such short lives, it was perhaps not worth it to show them beauty, when they would only stay in Arda Marred for such a brief moment? Were they guided by Eru in this, or was it their decision? Why did Men merit no protection?

In short, she had much sympathy for the Second-born, and would have wished to learn more about them – but, in spite of that, she did not stay long.

Men in these camps looked at her in wonder and seemed entranced by her beauty, and it would have been so easy to gain control of them she almost felt it on her fingertips. Just a little stretch of her will, the smallest, most minuscule one, and they would revere her – not all of them, perhaps, but enough that it would be of no consequence.

Her mind was strong and could, had she wished to, control even most elves by her will, at least for a time; but with these Second-born who had just emerged from darkness and who were weakened by it, it would have been so humorously easy to have them pronounce her as their queen, to even worship her, seeing the light in her and mistakenly believing it was her own...They scared her, because they awoke her own darkness, and so she left Ingoldo with them soon enough and travelled north. She longed to see the dwarves, who in many ways were the opposite of the Second-born – their minds were as hard and sturdy as their bodies, and they showed less propensity to be enchanted by her than elves, not more. With the dwarves, she always felt safe, and their presence calmed her mind in a way.

And yet...while she had been friendly with those that came to Thousand Caves and Narogrotto for centuries and her chests had many a piece of jewellery created by them, and her walls were decorated by their works of art and craftsmanship, she had never visited a dwarven kingdom in her life. She did not know if Maitimo had, and of those she knew, he was the most closely allied with the dwarves.

Nevertheless, he was her best chance, and so she rode to Himring once again.

"Beloved," Maitimo said, surprise evident in his face, when he came out of his fortress to greet her. "I did not expect you."

"Nor did I plan to come," she replied with a smile, dismounting. "But...well. I will tell you inside."

Maitimo was clearly intrigued by what she told him of the Second-born. "But you say they are weaker than us?" He asked. "Both in body and in mind?"

She sighed. "It is not that easy. In body, no, not weaker – they can be as strong as most of us, though perhaps not you or me. They live shorter lives, but that is not the same. And in mind...they are not weak, they are less wise, which is no wonder given the short time they have to gain wisdom. And they are by no means all foolish."

"Yet you say you could bend them to your will."

She avoided his eyes. "True," she replied. "They have just emerged from darkness. It is because of that, I believe, that it would be so easy to draw them to any kind of light."

Maitimo was deep in thought. Galadriel did not like some of the echoes of these thoughts that she caught, and said sharply: "I did not tell you these news to inspire you to make use of them in your plans."

"Given your own thoughts on the matter, you are hardly one to take a moral high ground," he replied equally sharply.

"That is why I left their camps," she reminded him, rising from the chair she occupied next to him.

"Is it?" He asked her in a slightly mocking tone, still sitting. "Or was it simply that being a queen of a small people holds no appeal to you, that it was not a prize worthy of you?"

She gave him a very sharp look. This was her own worst fear, and something that had troubled her mind all the way here, but she had not expected her friend to ask her these questions in such a mocking tone.

Maitimo felt her pain and disappointment, and his face immediately softened. He rose and extended his hands to her. She hesitated.

"Forgive me, beloved," he said, and she did take his hands then. "I...the Oath is eating at me. I should not have taken it out on you."

Galadriel was immediately worried. "The Oath? Is it becoming unbearable?"

"Not yet...for me, though some of by brothers are suffering acutely."

"Atarinkë?" She asked immediately.

"Yes. And Tyelkormo. I hardly recognize my brothers in them sometimes, lately. But it is getting more difficult even for the rest of us, and being locked here...there are few distractions."

"You should visit Macalaurë and Findekáno more often," she said in a soft chiding voice, ashamed of herself at the same time for only coming to Himring every decade or two.

At the mention of Findekáno, a spasm seemed to go through Maitimo's face. "What is it?" She asked immediately.

"Nothing," Maitimo replied. "Only...he has not been quite himself ever since he learned Ambë knew about Alqualondë."

There was clear pain in his voice. Galadriel knew he still blamed himself for Findekáno's involvement there, and so she now went and embraced him. "I know," she said, for she did, seeing Findekáno every year, and that was another of her many worries. "I will go to him from here, but first, I wished to ask...do you ever actually go to Belegost?"

It turned out Maitimo did not, but there were some envoys present at the moment, and so Galadriel at least had the opportunity to spend some time in their calming company before she headed west, to Hithlum through Dorthonion and Tol Sirion.

She did not find anything unexpected in either of these realms. Aikanáro and Eldalótë still bemoaned Ñolofinwë's lack of action, and Artaresto was still in pain. Artanáro, at least, was giving her joy. He now rode out with his father's soldiers from time to time, as his mother had before him, and while that added to Artaresto's train, his had proved himself to be a good commander, a great warrior in the making. Nerwen took him with her to Hithlum once more, and so had an opportunity to assure herself, in the months they spent there, that he was growing in wisdom as well. While the grief over his mother's death could be seen in his heart, it had not soured him. He and his father were much like Itarillë and Turukáno, Galadriel thought. But then, losing the one with which the flame of Eru tied you together must be something terrible. As dreadful as death of a parent must be, it was possible that death of a spouse was beyond compare. Galadriel only prayed that she need never find out.

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Galadriel tried to keep to her resolution and so travelled more often to Himring in the following years, even as she felt guilty for neglecting her brother or Celeborn – for she could not, at this time, sacrifice any time with Artanáro. Both her time spent with him in Tol Sirion and the cheerful months he usually passed with her in Hithlum – for Findekáno, in his true fashion, usually managed to hide his own pain deep enough that only very few could sense it – were equally important to him, she knew.

But then, as if there had not been enough tragedies and blows for her family in the last five decades, a sadness crept into her mind from those of Ñolofinwë and Findekáno when she left Narogrotto after finally visiting it after a gap of years, and when she enquired what troubled them, received images of Irissë in return. However, anything more precise was impossible to glimpse, and she would have had to wait to have any idea of more if it was not for Melian taking her aside when she arrived to Thousand Caves.

"Your cousin Irissë was at our borders some days ago," she said.

Galadriel would have been more astonished had she heard any other name from Turukáno's household. This had only been a matter of time. Nevertheless, she would not have expected a visit to Doriath, and why were her cousin and uncle so saddened? "What was she doing here?" She asked curiously

"Seeking entrance and looking, she said, for the sons of Fëanáro. The king did not wish to allow her in and the border guards told her that if she wanted to reach her Feanorion friends, she had to go east – and, they said, she turned that way."

Now Galadriel felt more surprise, and alarm, especially combined with what she felt from her uncle and cousin. Many things could have happened to the White Lady along the northern borders of Doriath, though Irissë was certainly no easy prey. "I wish I had not been gone when she came," she said bitterly.

"I thought you and your cousin were not on good terms?" Lady Melian noted, seeming surprised.

Galadriel sighed. "Not particularly, but I have not seen her for two hundred years. Of course I would have wanted to speak to her. And she would have had news, too, of those I love dearly."

The Queen seemed saddened, and took her hands. "I am sorry," she said, "I sometimes forget how much time matters to you. I would have tried to hold her by our borders until your return, if the king could not be convinced to let her in."

Which they both knew he would not be. Galadriel shook her head. "Irissë would never have allowed herself to be held, except by force. May I speak with the guards who met her?"

She was directed to the north-western border and undertook the journey. There, she learned the description of Irissë's companions and almost wept as she deduced it had been Lords Laurefindil, Ehtelion and Aikambalotsë. She would have dearly wished to speak to Lord Laurefindil, not only for the news of Itarillë he could have doubtless given her, but also for himself. And while she never spoke to Lord Ehthelion much, their ways rarely crossing, she considered him one of the greatest among the Noldor and knew he had Itarillë's esteem and Lord Laurefindil's faithful friendship. She did not really know Lord Aikambalotsë, she only ever met him briefly, but all she ever heard of him was good. It was not surprising that Turukáno sent all of his companions with his sister, and Galadriel dearly wished she had been present to meet them, even more so, perhaps, than Irissë. She also knew that they would have been willing to wait for her return, but that they were obedient to the White Lady. Her hope grew when she knew these three brave warriors were with Irissë...and yet, once again, what of the sadness she felt from her kin?

For an answer to that question, she only had to wait for Angaráto to make the journey to her, so she spent a few days in uncertainty. But her brother understood she longed for news, and so as soon as he arrived, greeting Singollo only perfunctorily, he headed to her chambers to tell what he knew. Celeborn was with her when they heard of the Lady being lost, and grieved, she directed to him her remark: "Those are the moments when I truly don't relish being right."

"Your cousin seems to have overcome even your expectation, though," he replied. "You'd only suspected she'd leave, and that she'd go to the sons of Feanor. You didn't think she'd go through the Valley of Dreadful Death."

Galadriel could only nod. It was true, and it was why she was not only grieved – she was also angered. She herself travelled through the realms of Beleriand frequently, and she knew that in these times of peace, when one avoided certain dangerous areas, one was safe. Irissë, she knew, had been warned of the Valley, and besides, this was hardly the first time she had gone to visit Tyelkormo. She had gone through Dorthonion every time before, and Galadriel did not understand why she could not have done the same this time. Had she been afraid Aikanáro or Eldalótë would try and stop her? It sounded most unlike Irissë that she would think anyone capable of stopping her, but it seemed the only logical explanation. Or perhaps not exactly stop her, but slow her down and contact Ñolofinwë and Findekáno, and then _they_ would stop her.

Had Irissë truly stayed so long in the Hidden City under Turukáno's protective and restrictive watch that she had not realized that in Hithlum or in Narogrotto, she could have gained a bigger entourage and continued to her ultimate destination in the east?

Well, perhaps not Narogrotto. Ingoldo _would_ have tried his best to stop her from journeying. But both Irissë's brother and father would have helped her, in the end. But instead of going to them and asking, she stubbornly insisted to go her own way, and only the Valar knew where she was now. Turukáno must be devastated, and because of that, Itarillë would be too. Galadriel felt sorry for them, and the only bright thing about this all seemed to be that none of the noble company that went with the princess of the hidden city paid with their lives for her stubbornness.

She woke from her musing to find both her brother and her husband watching her closely. She gave them a wan smile. "I think I'll go seek out Lúthien now, if you'll forgive me, brother, for not spending more time with you. Her light joy is precisely what I need at the moment."

Both neri nodded, and she headed out. Queen Melian had asked her daughter to spend more time with her in Thousand Caves recently, so there was even a chance she would find her in the city. Lúthien, of course, was far from always being lightly joyful, but even if the confinement of this world was laying heavily on her today...well, an escape to Valinor in her mind would be just as beneficial to Nerwen as a walk in the forest. Perhaps she could even remember some of the time they spent together with Irissë as children – there were bound to be _some_ memories more happy than frustrating.

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AN: Ehthelion – Ecthelion

Aikambalotsë – Quenyan translation of Egalmoth


	21. Pains

**Chapter 21: Pains**

 _Year 380 of the Sun, Doriath_

Singollo's ego was bruised.

That was always a particularly dangerous time to be in Thousand Caves.

His ego was bruised because the Noldorin lords had accepted the Second born in their lands and allowed them to settle there, without asking the High King of the Sindar first. There was no earthly reason why they should do so, of course, but Singollo never quite stopped considering himself king of all Beleriand – even though he did absolutely nothing to protect the lands beyond the borders of Doriath – and was convinced that everyone should consult every step they did with him. At least he never could be bothered to leave his safe halls, so he did not try to force the others into submission. The last thing they needed was another kinslaying.

Ingoldo always tried to consult everything he did with Singollo like a good vassal, something that irritated Galadriel a good deal. She understood diplomacy, of course, but it had to be balanced with a sense of one's own pride. She herself had to get on with the king, since she lived in his realm, but it did not mean she pandered to his every whim. Sometimes she thought she was less subordinated to him than his wife, a thing she found highly ironic.

A case in point was when Singollo's nerves finally gave and he pronounced, in a fit of anger after hearing some new stories of the Second born spreading into what he saw as his lands, that "into Doriath shall no Man come while my realm lasts, not even those of the house of Beor who serve Finrod the beloved." Galadriel could sense plainly what Melian thought of that pronouncement, and the king should have certainly been able to, too – but either his mind was too clouded by anger, or he simply decided to pay his wife no mind, as he often did. She did not say anything, and Galadriel felt a pang of irritation as she frequently did on those occasions. They left the room to preserve the peace, and once outside, the queen said: "Do not look at me like that, beloved."

"You know this is one thing we shall never agree on, my lady. I attempt not to say anything, but you cannot change my thoughts."

"I would not wish to, but surely if nothing else, you can see that if I protested every time you think I should, I would spend a good portion of time arguing with the king?"

Galadriel sighed. She would have liked to ask why Melian married him, then, but she knew very well why. Sometimes she felt that with some placings of his flame, Eru was putting a great burden indeed on those concerned. Even though, she had to remind herself, Melian did not feel it as much as she would have. Eru knew what he was doing, after all.

Ignoring the question, she instead said: "You did seem more disapproving than usual of the king's statement today, though."

"Yes, for I have Seen. Now the world runs on swiftly to great tidings. And one of Men, even of Beor's house, shall indeed come, and the Girdle of Melian shall not restrain him, for doom greater than my power shall send him; and the songs that shall spring from that coming shall endure when all Middle-earth is changed."

That made Galadriel turn grim, for she knew the great tidings would not be good ones, and she hurried North soon afterwards, to attempt to urge Ñolofinwë into action once more, and to speak with her brothers there, and perhaps Maitimo.

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Her relentless insistence finally had some effect on the High King of the Noldor in Middle-Earth, but not quite the one she had imagined.

He was thinking of attacking Angamando.

"Have you not been listening to me all these years?" Nerwen cried angrily. "I said that we are wasting our time, that we should be preparing better weapons to be able to keep the siege intact after another attack, and instead, after giving the enemy three hundred years to prepare himself, and us having no better weapons then before – and indeed, being weaker, with Turukáno now hidden safely in his secret city – you plan to attack the Enemy? What madness is this, Uncle?"

"You are out of line, Artanis," he replied, frowning at her.

At this attempt to subdue her, Galadriel sprang from her chair and paced to the window, too angry to contain it. "Do not try to control me with your royal authority," she spat over her shoulder, "it never worked, and you know it never shall, least of all now that I am formally a subject of Singollo. Your plan is folly, and I shall not call it by any other name than such as it deserves."

Her uncle remained seated, though his eyes were flashing as well. "You said we have been wasting our time," he argued. "Aikanáro and Eldalótë think so as well."

Here Galadriel almost snorted. It would have been the first time her uncle paid any mind at all to Aikanáro's or Eldalótë's opinions, and she had no doubt that they were merely a convenient support for his argument. No, if someone had truly convinced him, it was her – suddenly a terrifying thought, given what he was proposing. Still, it was strange. She had been trying to persuade him for two hundred years without any success, so why did he change his mind now? She asked the last question aloud, in a somewhat sharp tone of voice.

"I have considered the matter in detail and decided that I should listen to you," Ñolofinwë replied, clearly attempting to keep his tempter in check as well. "We should not give him any more time."

Galadriel looked at him in incredulousness. "We were not strong enough to attack him after we came directly from Valinor, still full of light and in full numbers – how do you imagine we would be strong enough now?"

"There are more of us now than there were then," Findekáno interceded. "Almost twice as many, in fact."

"Yes – but half of these people is too young to be sent into battle, and even those who are old enough are weaker for never having seen the Trees. You both know this. They would be the first to die in such a hopeless endeavour. Are you so eager for that, to have the children of your kingdom perish?" Galadriel asked pointedly.

"What would you have me do then," Ñolofinwë finally exploded, pushing his chair away from the table as well, "simply wait until he comes for us?"

"You have done it long enough!"She retorted, not backing down, even as Findekáno winced. "I would have you develop new weapons, as you know, and prepare our defence," she continued more mildly.

Ñolofinwë shook his head as he rose and joined her at the window. "Weapons would take time, and he has the head start on us – even if we started now, he has been doing so for hundreds of years and we would only give him more time by waiting while we prepare our own," he said, gentling his tone as well, and lightly touched her arm.

Galadriel, however, was not calmed by this. "So you would rather we attack unprepared?" She asked.

"So you would rather we do nothing, now, all of a sudden?" He returned the question, some sharpness returning.

"I would rather we do nothing than die in vain!" She exclaimed, and feeling, suddenly but with certainty, that there was no agreement to be reached here, she shook her head mutely and left the room.

Findekáno followed after her. They walked a long way in silence, until he said: "I agree with you, but do not judge my father too harshly, I beg you. He has some premonitions, I believe, and feels deeply guilty now for not listening to your earlier, and is trying to do what he can now to avert the catastrophe he senses is coming. I know he chose a strange way to do it, but he is close to despair, and fear grips him tightly."

Had an echo of the same premonition Lady Melian had had reached her uncle? Galadriel herself was not aware of any more swiftly approaching doom, but while it was rare for her uncle to See something she did not, it was possible – and besides, his premonition might only be of the same thing that she had known for centuries, that they cannot win. Perhaps it had finally reached him as well. It would certainly explain his sudden change of opinion. "How long has your father felt like this?" She asked.

"I believe it has been coming on gradually," Findekáno replied. "Even when last you were here, he was second-guessing his insistence that no action was needed, but...well, pride prevented him from saying it then, I believe. But not long after this, he began to feel ashamed of that sentiment, and as soon as he allowed himself to fully contemplate that you and our kin from Dorthonion were right...the full seriousness of the situation unwrapped in front of him."

"So you agree with me, then, that it is dire?"

"It will not be easy, no," he agreed, "but I believe that we can overcome."

Galadriel sighed. Of course he did. "I will not judge your father, then," she said, "but I cannot stay here without saying something unforgivable in anger, sooner or later."

"You, cousin? I thought this was only a failing of other, lesser Noldor."

He said it with a smile, and so Galadriel took it in the spirit in which it had been intended. "Usually, yes," she replied equally lightly. "But I think we can agree that this is a bit of an extremis...with hundreds of thousands of lives at stake," she added, all lightness gone.

He sighed profoundly. "I do not like thinking about that."

"Neither do I, but we have to face the truth."

"The responsibility is...crushing."

"Yes. That is why I think it might be understandable that I am a little more on edge than usual. I will go to my brothers now, but promise me you will not allow your father to do anything harsh."

He pressed her hand. "I will try my best to prevent it."

She gave him a wan smile. "I suppose that is the most I can ask."

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If Nerwen thought her visit with her brothers would improve her spirits, that there, she would find minds that shared her view that something should be done, but not a direct attack...she was to be sorely disappointed, for the rulers of Dorthonion agreed with Ñolofinwë. "But living so close to the Enemy," she said, "surely you must know how futile that attempt would be!"

"Better a futile attempt than doing nothing," Aikanáro replied.

"Too long," Eldalótë added, "have we simply let ourselves be killed, without striking any blows in turn."

Nerwen's worry grew. She could not see Eldalótë's mind, but from her speech and the pain in her eyes, she realized her sister-in-law was still consumed by the desire for revenge, revenge for Ohtarwen's death that had brought so much pain to Eldalótë's son, and that it was this she was thinking of when she spoke. Given an opportunity to strike against one who caused it, hse could not and would not hesitate.

Angaráto, Galadriel knew very well, would follow either his wife or his brother, and now his wife was consumed by dark thoughts and his brother...well. Galadriel was less surprised by Aikanáro's heedless wish to fight, but still, there was something wrong with his sudden disregard for death. He was worrying her as well. A darkness seemed to be lying on her youngest brother, a darkness that was clouding his judgement and was making him rush into death's embrace.

She took him aside and asked: "What is it, Aikanáro? Please, open your mind to me – perhaps I can help."

He looked away from her. Despair grew in her breast. "Why do you turn away?" She asked.

"I fear my noble sister's disapproval," he replied, and she was ashamed of herself once more, ashamed of the way she looked down on her brothers, that led them to hesitate in confiding to her.

"Whatever you did, I will never cast you away. I might disagree with you, but I will try to help you with all my powers."

He turned his eyes back to her, those eyes that were always sparkling with laughter or mischief or anger, and there was such a well of grief and despair in them that she trembled. "I have felt the flame of Eru," he said.

Surely that should be a joyous occasion...unless..."Has she died?" Galadriel asked fearfully.

"Not yet," he replied, with immeasurable sorrow in his words.

In spite of the seriousness of the topic, Galadriel almost smiled at that sentiment. "Do not give yourself to despair, brother," she said, "we might yet live in peace for many years, and even if we do not, your beloved does not have to perish in the battles to come, and perhaps the Valar will take pity on us one day."

He did not return her smile. "On us, but not on her," he said. "She will perish regardless of what comes of our war." He took a deep breath. "She is of the Second-born."

Galadriel's eyes grew wide and she stared at her brother, uncomprehending. "But...the flame of The One...how is that even possible?" She hesitated. "Are you sure...?"

She saw his face close down, and hurriedly said: "Forgive me, brother, I do not want to disrespect your pain and your love. But I do not...I do not understand how The One, the ever-good, could be so cruel. What plan of his is in this that I do not see?" Of course, there were many plans of The One that she did not see, but still...

He shook his head. "It does not matter," he said, "I did not...pursue her."

That caused Galadriel another shock. "But if the flame was true..."

"Have you not seen Artaresto suffering after the death of his wife?" He asked in despair. "I cannot enter marriage with the certain knowledge that I would face that, and soon, too, in what is merely a few years to us."

"But what will become of you, then? She will die and be freed from all this, presumably, but you, even if you die, will go to the Halls of Mandos and, if the Valar are merciful, be given a body again one day...but the flame, will it die?"

"I do not know. And yet, would it not be even worse had I married her?"

Yes, it would have. The Flame grew in intensity once the wedding took place, and once the couple laid together for the first time. "The One was merciful to our grandfather," she said, "and made him feel the flame again. We may hope he will be so to you, too, but...but I cannot help feeling that...if you felt it, if such an extraordinary fate had been prepared for you, then there is some intention in it, and you should not have spurned it."

His eyes were full of pain. "I cannot, sister. Do not force me into it, because I could not bear it."

She closed her eyes and pressed his hand. "I would never force you, brother. And I will pray to The One that he may make your burden easier, however you might decide in the end. Is it long since you met her?"

"No, I have but recently returned from that journey."

"And may I know her name?"

"Andreth. She is...she is so wise, sister, for one so very young...she is barely twenty years old, she should be a child by our standards, and yet..."

"They age differently than we do, though at that age I believe she is still very young even by their count. What house is she from?"

"Beor...that is how I met her, she came here with messengers from their lands, though I did not know. I first saw her reflection in Aeluin, and I knew from that moment that...that all hope was lost."

Galadriel embraced her brother, and though in that moment that her uncle was right, that darkness was truly upon them.

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The news she received in Himring were not any better.

She told Maitimo of Ñolofinwë's latest insane idea, and they lamented it together. "At least Tyelkormo and Atarinkë should be happy with it," she said, but the expression that crossed Maitimo's face at the second name was such to give her pause. "What is it?" She asked.

He avoided her eyes. "I do not wish to add to the shame of my family," he said, "I would rather you did not know."

"I can promise not to tell anyone beside Celeborn if you wish..."

He gave a bitter laugh. "Do you think I do not know Melian sees your mind? And she shares everything with Singollo, and before you know it, all of the Sindar will know of our latest dark deed and will hate us even more than before. And you will pay for it, cousin, so do not ask me to speak."

Nerwen gave him a hard look. "I have kept the truth of Alqualondë from Queen Melian for years," she said sharply. "I do not think Atarinkë's latest escapade is going to prove more of a chore than that."

Another laugh that had no mirth in it. "Well, if you insist...you can be the judge of that." His mouth stretched into a terrible grimace. "My brother found a wife."

Galadriel's eyes grew wary. "Surely that is not..."

"Found is very much the proper word, really," Maitimo continued as if he had not heard her. "A pretty Sindarin lady taking a walk just beyond the edges of Doriath. She missed the open horizon, I gathered, and so she sometimes walked like this. Perhaps my brother decided that with such unusual preferences for the Sindar, she really needed to be rescued and relocated to the Noldor, who had much more appreciation for open space. At any rate, he was determined to make her his wife. She was not at all enthusiastic, especially after learning who he was – the fool told her in the hopes of convincing her. Well, you know how much Curufinwë dislikes being denied things. His will overcame hers in the end, and now she is his wife, expecting the first grandchild of Fëanáro, I hear."

Galadriel stared, disbelieving. "That is not possible," she said in the end, flatly. "No one can marry someone else against their will. That is the whole basis of marriage, the freely given consent of both sides. That is what marriage _means_."

"Well, of course, you cannot directly make anyone marry. But there are plenty of indirect ways to do that – surely you have enough imagination for that? Curufinwë kidnapped her and imprisoned her and probably threatened violence to her and her kind if she did not consent to become his wife. It did not take too long to get what he wanted."

"How long ago was this? How long have you kept it a secret?"

"A few months. But I suppose it will have to come out, after the child is born at the latest. People will ask who his mother is, and they are unlikely to believe a Sinda went with my brother willingly."

"They might," Galadriel muttered, "simply because everything else is too unbelievable."

Maitimo gave a great sigh, and she saw his eyes were full of pain and despair. "Could I have prevented this, beloved?" He asked. "There must be something I could have done...I have seen her, my brother's new wife. He...he actually invited us to Himlad, to present her. It was dreadful. She is truly beautiful, her hair like molten silver and her eyes as bright as grass in spring, but she is wilting in my brother's company, and she will fade in time, I fear, unless the child gives her a reason to live."

"Can you not help her, then?"

"How? Perhaps if she was not with child, but then my brother is too clever for that. She was already expecting when he invited us. He knows what Macalaurë and I would try to do otherwise."

"I see. So you wish to help her, but not enough to take his child from your brother."

The pain in Maitimo's eyes deepened. "You know I could not do that," he said. "To hide a child from its father..."

"Not even to save a woman who is being held against her will?"

Maitimo did not reply, and Nerwen left Himring soon afterwards, unable to stay.

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She did not escape the tragedy of Curufinwë's wife by returning to Thousand Caves, however. She found both Doroneth and Oropher, her young son, dressed in mourning. "What happened?" She asked immediately, alarmed. "Something with the baby?" When she had left Thousand Caves, Doroneth had been pregnant.

"Oh no," her sister-in-law replied, "Nimloth is fine. A healthy, blooming child. But my sister's disappeared."

A feeling of dread spread in the Nolde's belly. "Your sister?" She asked carefully. "I'm very sorry to hear that. Have I met her? Was she at the wedding?"

"Oh yes. She sat next to my brother and Amdír. I'm sure you must have noticed her – she's very beautiful. Hair like molten silver, and eyes so light green they remind you of spring grass."

Galadriel's world grew dark for a moment, and she feared she would faint. "Do you have any idea where she might be?" She asked faintly.

"None. She liked taking long solitary walks, so for a long time no one was worried, but it's been several months now. And she'd have never missed the birth. There's no denying it, she's lost. Queen Melian says no stranger crossed the border of Doriath, so it means my sister must have left the safety of our realm. She did that sometimes, I'm afraid. She liked the open horizon."

Darkness crept upon Galadriel again, and she hastily excused herself and fled.

Fortunately, Celeborn was in their chambers. "What happened?" He asked as soon as he took one look at her face.

"I know where Doroneth's sister is," she said without preamble.

"Then we have to tell her at once! Come!"

"No," Galadriel did not move. "I was sworn to secrecy."

"What? Why? Where is she?"

"In Himlad...married to my cousin Curufin."

Celeborn sat in shock as she retold him the entire story she had heard from Maitimo. "What can be done?" He asked then.

"I don't know. Curufin'll never let me visit now, nor will he come with her to Himring. I don't see any way of getting to her."

"And you've been sworn to secrecy."

"I have, you haven't. But...think carefully about whether you wish to share this. Unless the information can help...Maedhros is right, you know. It'd increase hatred and mistrust."

Celeborn thought about this deeply for a moment. "We need to speak to grandmother," he decided then.

Galadriel agreed, though she did not look forward to that talk, and they walked the short distance to Lady Ernil's chambers in silence.

She seemed surprised to see them. "Come in, come in," she said. "I suppose it's a political matter of some urgency? Do take a seat."

Her light mood disappeared as soon as Celeborn told her of the problem.

"If our king was different," she said then, a distant look in her eyes, "I'd try to get him to threaten that spawn of Feanor with our army unless he gave Midhel back. But we all know that'll never happen. Yes, I'm afraid you might be right – it may well be impossible to help her."

"Surely you don't intend to do nothing, Grandmother?" Celeborn asked, more shocked than upset.

She looked directly into his eyes, and silent communication passed between them. Galadriel rose. "I'll leave you now," she said. There was no need to remain in the way of whatever private conversation they required to have. At the door, however, she hesitated. "Whatever you decide to do," she said, "be very careful. Curufin is...crafty, and clever. It won't be easy to fool him."

Lady Ernil gave her a long, measuring look, then she inclined her head. "Thank you for the warning," she said.

Galadriel nodded in return and left, unsure where to go. Perhaps visiting the ents could at least take her mind of things? She headed towards the forest half-heartedly. In times of turmoil, she would normally search out Lady Melian while in Thousand Caves, but now, forced to keep the reason of her upset from her, that was not an attractive option. She considered Lúthien for a moment, but it seemed like burdening her friend with such terrible news would be too much. She needed her uncle or Findekáno...or, better yet, some of those she had lost.

Her mind went to Itarillë, hidden behind the seemingly impenetrable walls of her father's city, consoling Turukáno, in all likelihood, after Irissë's departure. How she missed her! That longing was always there, at the back of her mind, but at times it became especially acute, and now it erupted like a long-suppressed stream. No one could have cheered and consoled her as well in this moment as Itarillë could. No one, that was, with one exception.

And now her mind went further back, to one she lost through her own foolishness, one who could have advised in this moment, as well as consoled. "Oh, Olórin," she said with a soft sigh, and returned in her mind to the gardens of Lórien.

She usually did her best not to think of that lost friend, because while Itarillë was still within her reach in some ways, Olórin was lost forever, and that knowledge was too painful to bear. But now the memories overpowered her, and as she blinked the tears away from her eyes, she was not sure if they were for Midhel, for Aikanáro and Andreth, or for herself.


	22. Distant Hope

AN: Warning: after the first break (well, second if you count the one below this AN), this chapter deals with what is discussed in Athrabeth Finrod ah Andreth (published in Morgoth's Ring). I am not sure what degree of sense it makes unless you have read that, or unless you are a theologian/philosopher/something similar. It is also mostly a theological discussion between the siblings, so in case you are not interested in that kind of thing, you can simply skip it without losing much in the way of story. I am also warning you that that passage is unavoidably and almost explicitly Christian (as much as Athrabeth is). Writing canonical Tolkienverse, I assume the basic theological tenets he worked with to be objectively true in the same way Manwë is, and work with them accordingly. So if that makes you uncomfortable, just skip. :)

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 **Chapter 22: Distant Hope**

 _Year 400 of the Sun, Doriath_

The attempt to rescue Midhel did not go well.

Galadriel had not known about it in advance, and in fact, only found out when Lady Ernil requested a private talk with her. It turned out a small group of elves, headed by Midhel's father and brother, had secretly travelled to Himlad to try and get their beloved back.

None of them returned, and now Lady Ernil wanted Galadriel to travel to Himlad herself and attempt to at least find out their fate.

"Curufinwë won't receive me," Galadriel answered when she heard the suggestion. "The most I can do is go to Himring and send Maedhros to find out."

The Sindarin lady curled her lip. "As if we could rely on a son of Feanor to report to us truthfully."

Galadriel sighed. "It's the most I can do," she repeated. She was not certain Lady Ernil believed her, however.

Doroneth had been told about her sister's fate, so that was where Galadriel headed next, to beg forgiveness for being unable to do more. She found the lady surrounded by family, and her heart grew heavier. Galathil was there, as were Nimloth and Oropher, but not only them. Amdír, Doroneth's nephew, was also present, there with his mother. His father was one of those who had gone to Himlad. The whole family was dressed in mourning.

"Sister," Galadriel said softly to the lady, "I'd speak to you." She gave a look to the children by her side as she said so. Some things should only be heard by adults.

"Then do," Oropher replied for his mother.

Galadriel controlled the scathing look she wanted to send him, and Doroneth sighed softly and looked at her other sister-in-law. "Filegil," she said, "would you take Nimloth, please? She truly is too young for this, but the rest should hear and..."

Filegil only nodded, and taking the girl by the hand, led her out of the room.

"What is it, then?" Doroneth asked.

"Lady Ernil came to me with the request to find out the fate of your father and brother," Galadriel replied, her eyes darting to Amdír as she did so. "I...wished to tell you personally that it's impossible. Curufin won't receive me in Himlad. I've tried before, as you know."

"You'll just do nothing, then?" Oropher asked.

"Beloved, please," Doroneth said in a soft voice, giving Galadriel an apologetic look.

"Amdír's father went there!" Oropher retorted with some spirit. "My uncle! And my grandfather as well! How can you be so placid?"

"Believe me that I'm not," Doroneth said, some sharpness returning to her voice, and Galathil laid a calming hand on her arm.

"I thank you for your concern, cousin, and appreciate it," Amdír added, "but please don't speak for me. My father and grandfather might well be dead. I wouldn't wish to push Lady Galadriel into any course of action that might be risky to her as well."

Oropher immediately subsided. "I only thought she could..." He muttered, trailing off.

"I promise you I'll do everything in my power," the Nolde replied, while lamenting that it had to be so little.

Nevertheless, she stayed true to her word, and found out through Maitimo that the Sindar were not, as a matter of fact, dead, merely imprisoned. She would have felt relief that her cousins had not sunk that low yet, if it had not been for what she witnessed in Maitimo's house. His flashes of temper were getting worse, and he was meaner than he had ever been before. He always apologized afterwards, but still, Galadriel felt that his mind would not withstand the pressure of the Oath much longer – and dreaded what would happen after it crumbled.

So that fear joined her pain over Doroneth's kin, and over Midhel. Of her, Maitimo had some news as well, delivered in such bitter tones she would have felt sorry for him if she had not, sometimes, glimpsed hints of scorn for her supposed weakness in his speech. "She crumbled to my brother's will," he had said. "She barely speaks now, and seems afraid to as much as raise her eyes from the ground except to look at her son. Tyelperinquar is strong and fair, at least. Atarinkë says he shows talent in craft as well. But his mother is a ruin of a nis, an empty shell. She gave up the fight."

"Do not dare blaming her," Galadriel replied fiercely. "It was your brother who did this to her, and you do not get to feel better about it by telling herself it was her fault for not being strong enough."

"But she was not," he said, again with that hint of scorn. "You would never suffer such a fate."

Galadriel had left Himring after this, as she had many times before in the last two decades for similar reasons, but the words came to haunt her not long afterwards, when news of Irissë reached her – and this time, they were more grievous, and more definite.

She learned that day that not even the spell that lay on Turukáno's city was strong enough to block feelings as sharp as these, for she felt Turukáno's joy like her own, and too soon afterwards, his pain as well. There was no uncertainty in the last thought: Irissë was dead.

Galadriel could not know what happened at first, she only had the complete certainty that her cousin had perished, but soon, some sort of news started to filter in. A strange dark elf had appeared in the lands north of Doriath some days ago, and rumour coming from the east said that he had claimed to be Irissë's husband and the father of her son. Even later, it transpired that he was Eol the Dark-Elf, and that he had been pursing them.

Galadriel had no way of learning what happened in the hidden city that lead to Irissë's death, but there was a good reason to believe it was somehow connected to her sinister husband, since there was no one inside the city itself that would do her harm.

As for the rest, with knowing Midhel's fate, Galadriel knew enough to imagine what transpired in Irissë's case as well, and her mind filled with horror at this repetition. When Maitimo first told her, she had been shocked into incomprehension that her cousin could do such thing to another elf, and now she found out that another of her cousins was, at the same time, being subjected to it. Were there more cases like this, she wondered? How often did this happen and was kept secret, how many elves were married under duress, forced or manipulated into it? How many subjected to such terrible fate?

Did Eol kill Irissë as a punishment for leaving him, when she finally managed to do so? Would Curufinwë do the same, had they succeeded in helping Midhel escape? Had they rescued the lady, would it have been even worse? If they had helped Tyelperinquar escape? Was that why Irissë had waited so long to make an attempt for freedom, had she waited for her son to be old enough to manage the journey and not to be at risk?

And how was it possible that Irissë even found herself in this situation in the first place? For all she had despised Maitimo for the remark that she would have never suffered Midhel's fate, she had believed it in a way – no one would be strong enough to hold her against her will. And yet...from what she knew from Doroneth, Midhel was a beautiful and cheerful nis, but not particularly strong or powerful. It was no wonder a son of Fëanáro managed to overpower her. But Irissë...Irissë was a descendant of Finwë, and if she was not something, she was not weak. Galadriel could not imagine how Eol managed to capture her. It must have been a trick, perhaps something to draw her curiosity, but then...what? How would he force her, her whose will bent to no one, to become his wife? Galadriel could not see it, and yet the thought that it was a true marriage, made of free will, but ended by Irissë running away from her husband and the husband in question killing her...that was even more impossible.

Perhaps Irissë had thought that what she felt was the Flame, and only later found out it was not? But why would she then not have sent a message to her relations that she was well? No, she must have been abducted – but how was a mystery, a mystery that terrified Galadriel as few things did.

All of these thoughts chased each other in her head and she latched onto each and every one of them, trying to distract herself from her grief – grief and guilt. All of her uncharitable thoughts about Irissë now felt like the darkest sin, in light of her death. Whatever faults the White Lady might have had, her fate was so cruel it was impossible to remember them now.

To be caught in the middle of an undeclared war between your father and your best friend's family, to watch your most beloved brother lose a wife, to be locked up in a city when you love the wide open spaces, and then, when you finally escape, to be captured and locked up again, and married against your will...What very different life from what she must have imagined leaving the Hidden City her cousin had led...Galadriel hoped she had at least found happiness in her son, like Midhel seemed to, from what Maitimo had said. She hoped all of Irissë's years in Eol's realm had not been completely wretchedly unhappy, and mourned that her cousin had not been given at least a little more time with her beloved brother before her husband found her and killed her.

And most of all, she mourned the death of her cousin, the departure of a noble Noldorin lady who could find so much joy in life if only she had enough freedom to ride when she wanted, and prayed that her stay in the halls of Mandos would heal all of her wounds and that she would be allowed to return soon.

She grieved in privacy, and then went and asked the Queen's seamstresses for a pure white gown.

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The forest of Brethil was now inhabited by one house of the Second born.

There were many feelings Galadriel had about it, and none of them were entirely positive.

For one, while she was glad that Singollo had relented in the end, it was quite irritating and humiliating that her brother, king of the biggest Noldorin realm, had had to beg so much. Then again, if he had given them some part of his own lands, he could have saved himself that trouble. But he had been right – the forest of Brethil was uninhabited and unprotected, and it made no sense, and it was strategically a good decision to locate them there, instead of his own well protected lands. Still, it had been a struggle to make Singollo overlook his irrational dislike of the Second born to see this.

Then there was the fact that a source of temptation was now situated so close to her. But she never really walked to Brethil, so at least she did not have to change her habits.

And lastly, and what she was most ashamed of: she was, in a way, jealous of Haleth.

It seemed to her strange that the Second born, whose women were apparently significantly weaker in body, had less trouble accepting them as leaders than elves did, even though there was no difference at all in strength between nissi and neri. Part of it, of course, was owing to the fragility of Men: it was easier for them to get in a situation when the only heir was a woman. Still, surely a distant male relation could have been chosen...but they have decided to follow Haleth instead. She knew that if her brothers all died – Eru save her from such a fate – the people of the House of Arafinwë would not follow her, they would follow Artaresto or even Artanáro, young as he was. It was difficult to bear that with equanimity, and once again, she had to fight the tendency to turn her envy into resentment. Her eldest brother's visit to Thousand Caves was very much welcome to her in such circumstances. It was difficult to resent him when he was present.

Ingoldo had taken the news that Aikanáro had fallen in love with a Second-born woman hard, just as she had, and took it upon herself to find the woman and get to know her and discover whether he could be of any assistance to her, knowing that his brother would never willingly see her again – the pain would be too much. He confirmed what Aikanáro had said, that she was wise among Men, and frequently went to see her while she lived, always bearing news of her back to Galadriel, who did not dare more than one brief visit.

This time, however, he seemed both excited and preoccupied at once after he returned. He did not say anything during his brief stay in Thousand Caves, but once they set out together to Narogrotto, he spoke. "I had the strangest talk with Andreth."

"Oh? What about?"

"Well, I expressed my grief at Boron's passing and, perhaps not entirely tactfully," he realized, "said how short the human lives seem to us. She reminded me that by the count of Men, Boron lived a long life, and so did his fathers before him, and that they could not have dreamed of such long lives east of Beleriand, which according to her lifted the shadow from them – she shares Beor's theory that it's through the fault of Moricotto that they die. I suggested to her what we have discussed together, that it was something they themselves did that angered The One so much he punished them in such a way – though it still seems an impossibly cruel punishment – and she did not deny it, but told me they do not tell anyone except other Second born what happened in the eastern darkness. Well, I can understand that – we do not boast of Alqualondë either, and hesitated to tell even our own kin."

He paused for a moment as they crossed a wide stream, then resumed his speech. "I tried to explain the problem with the idea that they were meant to be long-lived like us, I tried to explain how we see that their souls are directed as if outside this world, whence they came, perhaps. They did not have that idea in their own lore, but hearing my arguments, she had to admit that there was this kind of difference between us. She told me that they say 'there is no weariness in the eyes of the elves', and that they sometimes called us grown-up children – something that amused me greatly, though I can see what she means from their point of view. However, this was when the most fascinating part came. I suggested to her that before Moricotto poisoned death for them, it was more like a release of their spirit, that longed to return to its creator. But she chastised me, quite rightly, saying that that would be contempt of the body, seeing it as merely a form of prison, and that I would be denying to the Second born the harmony of body and soul that we find so crucial. But when I was forced to admit that she was right, there was only one possibility remaining: that in their original state, when their souls departed, they took the bodies with them, and thus uplifted some part of Arda to glory unknown!"

Galadriel, listening intently, turned on her horse to see him better. "Can such a thing be imagined?"

"Do you have a different solution?"

"No, and I see your logic, but the ways of the One are mysterious and can not always be followed in such a way. Why did he allow the Marring of Arda to occur at all? Unless we have an answer to this, the act that seems most illogical of all, we cannot presume to know the ways in which His mind works."

He frowned. "You are right that I was too confident in my deductions. Still, allow me to present to you the rest the conclusions we came to. I felt that perhaps, if this was true, then the whole of Arda could have been healed by this uplifting, remade through them, and that even us, after the world ended, could have found place in this new world, without any evil in it. And this new world would have been the home of the Men as this current Arda is ours, and we would have always remembered our past, but in that perfect world, it would not have been painful, only sweet."

Galadriel looked away. "Is it wise to think of such hope when...?"

To her surprise, he laughed. "Andreth would agree with you here, for she cried when I spoke so, asking what to do now, when the Second born fell and this plan of The One was foiled. But you and I know that His plans are not so easily destroyed, and so I insisted, asking whether they had no hope...and she told me of those that call themselves of the Old Hope, and they...it seems too much to say in your presence, my sister, for your wisdom is great and I fear you will laugh at me, but I cannot keep such news from you...they say that Eru Illúvatar himself will one day enter Arda, and heal its marring."

Galadriel stopped her horse and looked into distance, her brother's words ringing in her ears. She was one for practicality and preferred what was probability, and always criticized Ingoldo for his vain, naive words, and yet... "It speaks to something in the soul, does it not?" She asked.

"Yes. Yes, it does, and so if you will not hear the argument of reason for this – how else could Arda be healed – because you say that we have no proof that The One acts according to reason as we understand it...then hear what your soul tells you, sister. Is not this hope that men brought us a real one?"

She hesitated. "It is absurd, and yet...maybe that is why I have more faith in it than if it was reasonable, for reason says that we shall all perish with Arda, and if it was up to reason we would, and is it only His love that may deliver us from that fate. A love that seems also absurd, as He is everything and we are nothing compared to him...so yes, it is fitting: it is by all means to be believed, because it is absurd, and it is certain, because impossible."

Ingoldo dismounted his horse and came to her, and she came down into his embrace. They stood like that for some time, on the edges of Doriath, before he said: "You surprised me, sister. Such leaps of hope are unlike you."

"Because ordinarily, we deal with this world, and in it, they are nonsensical. But He is beyond all that, and we cannot apply our normal standards on him."

Ingoldo nodded in understanding, and they let go of each other and rode on in silence.

Only after they sat next to to each other at a feast in Narogrotto did she ask: "Did Andreth speak of Aikanáro at all?"

"Yes; for the first time, I spoke openly to her about it, and it was bitter, even after the bright hope we shared just before. There are other differences between our kin than just our doom. She would have given up everything to be with him just for a day, and you know that such choices are not in our nature. She finds it hard to understand that. The memory he cherishes is not enough for her."

"It is not enough for him either," Galadriel pointed out.

"Yet her pain is greater, for they are less able to live off from memory than we are."

Nerwen sighed. There was no arguing with that. "May it be a consolation to us that she will have a shorter time to live with that pain."

"That is what she said, too – that at least, after death, she will no longer feel the sting of rejection."

Galadriel smiled at that. "She is proud, is she not?"

"Very. She called us lordly when she heard we called them guests in Arda, and complained we only saw them as children."

The lady's smile turned into a frown. "In that, then, her pride turns into arrogance – for how could we not?"

"They are our equals," Ingoldo pointed out.

Galadriel sighed and took a sip of wine. "In value of their souls, yes, and certainly you could not say that you would rather kill a man than an elf – that would be a great sin. Yet they cannot believe we would think them equal in wisdom, when they only spend such short time here! They learn more quickly than we do, true, but still not quickly enough to equal our thousands of years with their decades!"

Ingoldo smiled, softly but a little ironically as well. "Perhaps it is a good thing you do not walk among them, sister. They would not take kindly to such words."

"We do not consider ourselves equal to the Valar either, for all we do not believe The One loves us less."

He started at her: "Do you believe their relationship to us is equal to that of ours to the Valar?"

She laughed bitterly. "Perhaps I have spent too much time with the Sindar, and stopped seeing the Valar as elevated enough."

"Another thing on which you could agree with Andreth. She accused the Valar of leaving them to their fate."

"And did they not?" Galadriel asked with a raised eyebrow, and noticed Guilin, Ingoldo's Chief Councillor, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. He was a careful and conservative elf, and would like such talk even less than Ingoldo, she knew. But Galadriel felt strongly about this, and so she continued: "Just think of what they did for us, and what they did for them. Left here to become easy prey for the Enemy, what do you think would have become of us? I am not saying that they should have been brought to Aman, but surely at least a messenger from the Lords of the West...? In this one way, we _are_ like the Valar to them – we are the ones who bring the news of the Light beyond the coast."

Ingoldo sighed. "Your words worry me, sister, yet I cannot find fault in them. I can only use your own argument against you – are you not too logical, for the matter we are speaking of?"

Galadriel, however, shook her head resolutely. "The Valar are not the same as The One, brother. They are subject to reason. It is, I am afraid, your unbeatable and irrational optimism and blind trust in things being better speaking again."

He laughed in response to this, but Galadriel saw Guilin next to him shift uncomfortably once more. "Your Chief Counsellor does not approve," she said with a smile. "He thinks I'm being too disrespectful, to you and the Valar both."

"No, my lady," Guilin immediately defended himself, "I would never..."

She shook her head. "I do not blame you," she said. "What I say about the Valar may well seem close to blasphemy, and as for my brother, I usually only speak this way to him in private, or at least more quietly. I should not have cast his authority in doubt in front of you."

"Please, sister," Ingoldo replied, "do not curb yourself. I am still wise enough to be aware that I need someone to tell me when I am wrong, and you have always been most diligent in this respect."

"Are you certain you wish for me to do it before your subjects, though?"

His eyes darted to the dwarven necklace at her throat. "I give this to you for a reason every time you arrive. You are the closest I will ever have to a queen, and you have such right. Guilin can take it...and some others are sure to appreciate it, are they nor, Inglor?"

The Chief Legate, who was sitting next to Guilin, smiled a small smile. "If I may, I would like to refrain from commenting on this, my king."

Ingoldo laughed again. "Ever the diplomat. Do not worry, I can see your mind, I know what you think."

Galadriel smiled as she watched the interaction. She liked Inglor, and was glad he had a place in her brother's council. In fact, she had expected he would gain the position of Chief Councillor – he was one of Ingoldo's companions, and the wisest among them. There was no doubting his loyalty and the quality of his advice. But in the end, Ingoldo had preferred Guilin, who was the oldest of his lords, deeming it more just. Galadriel was not so certain of that, but understood why her brother would wish to avoid the appearance of favouritism. Two of his three companions were members of the council. Very likely, he thought he should not make the preference even more marked by making one of them the Chief Councillor.

And there were upsides to having Guilin so elevated. Both of his sons were strong in body and in mind, and their prominence at court was doing Narogrotto good. Galadriel liked them, especially Gwindor, and decided there and then that it was time to take another trip to Falas to visit Lord Ciryatan, and that Gwindor would me a great companion for the journey.

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She found Lord Ciryatan in a state of unquiet. "Your king's plans to attack Angband cause me worry," he told her as they walked along the coast.

"I don't think they need to," Galadriel replied. "I think that by combining our forces with his son, Finrod and Maedhros, we convinced him of the folly of that plan." Even Artanáro had joined in, actually, clearly a little nervous to speak against the High King, but firm nevertheless. Galadriel had seen the words about him being in her pocket jump to the tip of her uncle's tongue, but he had restrained himself and Artanáro did not know his mind well enough to catch them, fortunately. He did not need to see his father's accusations mirrored in another, and least of all in one who served as another father to him. Galadriel did not hesitate to tell this to Ñolofinwë, either, and his shame contributed to finally conceding that they were right, and that attack at this time was impossible. Artanáro had been proud to be part of such an important decision, she knew. It helped him to concentrate on the world and on the present, and for that she was glad. His father would never be the same, but Artanáro still could, or at least not more broken. "He even finally started to focus on war research properly," she continued aloud, to Lord Ciryatan, "and new weapons are being made by the Noldorin smiths."

"And that is what worries me," the Sindarin lord replied. "Your uncle wishes to attack. You convinced him he cannot do so without new and better weapons. So he will spend some time developing them, and then, as soon as he has a few, he will do so, even though he still won't be well prepared."

Galadriel sighed. "You're right, that is a danger. Thank you for warning me, I'll do my best to prevent it, and warn Fingon as well."

Lord Ciryatan grimaced, as he always did when she mentioned Findekáno's name, and she asked: "How is Amonel?"

"Not well," he replied curtly.

The Nolde nodded, understanding he had no desire to discuss it, and instead said: "I had the most interesting news from my brother's talk with Andreth. I hope he'll forgive me if I don't wait for him to tell you, but good news should be shared as soon as possible, especially in times such as these, when there are so few to be had."

Lord Ciryatan listened with utmost attention to her report, and then nodded seriously, looking West. "Yes," he said, "yes, I can see how that would be the only way...but I don't know if I dare to hope in something so great."

"If we go West together one day," she said with a smile, a small, private joke, since neither of them expected to ever go there, "we can ask the Valar about it."

He smiled at that as well, but his smile was a little ironic. "And what makes you think they know?"

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AN: Why, yes, Galadriel _is_ quoting Tertullian, why do you ask? Or rather, I should say that Tertullian was quoting Galadriel, given the chronology; maybe he was really Finrod in disguise?

Also, I never intended for Galadriel to take the protestant/fideist side of the argument (she doesn't quite seem the type), it just happened.


	23. Sudden Flame

**Chapter 23: Sudden Flame**

 _Year 455 of the Sun, Doriath_

That one's life can take an unexpected turn for worse was not a new experience for Galadriel – indeed, she had seen it in Aman, just as the hour seemed brightest.

She was not sure that it was any easier now, after having known that the moment was coming for a long time.

It was just a night like any other and she was walking with Lúthien through the forest under the stars when suddenly, she felt from Findekáno and her uncle a great alarm, and when she turned her mind to them, from her brothers in the North too. Alarm and fear, and preoccupation, and flames dancing on the horizon.

Her heart grew cold.

She knew she could not disturb them in such a moment, she knew she could not demand more, yet not knowing was terrible.

"What is it, beloved?" Lúthien asked, seeing the look upon her face.

"I fear...I fear the enemy is attacking again."

"The enemy? We have to warn my father!"

That was, honestly, the last thing on Galadriel's mind, since Doriath was safe behind Queen Melian's protection and she knew Singollo would not rid out to help, but it was also the only useful thing she could do, so she turned her steps back towards Thousand Caves.

On her way, her mind called to Ingoldo, and there at least she received more news. The North was, indeed, under attack. The High King begged him to come with all the army he could afford to take, and Ingoldo was riding out imminently. "Stay in Doriath, sister, I beg you," he told her.

She hated it. She was a good fighter, but even more importantly, she had power and the light of the West in her and she knew most of Melkor's creatures would fall away from her path merely if she walked by, and perish if she turned on them fully. Hiding behind the spells of Lady Melian seemed cowardly and useless, and yet even as she wanted to refuse, she remembered the fire of balrogs in which her uncle had perished, and the promise she gave to Findekáno, hundreds of years ago: that she would not put herself in danger unless all of her wisdom told her it was necessary.

But how could she know that? She did not see the battle, she did not see if she could be of any particular help. Surely, if nothing else, they would need healing afterwards – she refused to admit to herself that there might be no afterwards. That was a compromise she was willing to make, she decided – wait till the battle grew calmer, and then ride North and help to heal the wounded.

They reached Thousand Caves, and she found the king and told him the news. As he gave orders to strengthen border guards and send out scouts, Galadriel tried to stifle her rage at his cowardice as she let Celeborn and Lady Ernil know and then searched out the Queen.

"Tell me, my lady," she begged, "what do you see?"

Lady Melian's eyes were immeasurably sad. "This is the beginning of the end," she said.

"I know. What I am asking is: should I go North? Can my healing help there?"

"Not now. I will tell you, if you wish, when it is safe enough and you would not go completely in vain."

And so Galadriel stayed in Doriath and paced the halls of Thousand Caves like a caged beast while her kin died at the hand of the Enemy.

If she had no news of the battle, she might have perhaps been able to forget it for a time. But she felt the fear and rage and despair of her brothers, all of them, and through their eyes she saw the hosts of Moricotto overrunning their lands and slaughtering their people, for hours and days on end – and then, she felt it when her brothers died.

She felt Angaráto's death first, in Aikanáro's pain and wrath, and then she saw the youngest of her brothers attack the monsters around him with a scream, and suddenly she felt nothing from him at all. She realized what it meant, and Celeborn held her as she cried her grief and anger into the night.

Her brothers, her beloved brothers, one as bright as the sun and the other as mild as a spring morning...Aikanáro, the flame among the children of Atarinkë, who had never been allowed to know the happiness of love fulfilled, Aikanáro, whose last years of his life were tainted by despair and longing and hurting, Aikanáro, who had wished to ride to a hopeless battle to free himself from this fate, but even the satisfaction of that was denied to him because he had to watch his most beloved brother die first, a price he would have never wanted to pay for his release.

And Angaráto, the mild, gentle, obliging elf, always kind, hardly ever using a sharp word or arguing, the one who loved his wife and brother enough to leave the Blessed lands for them, who had been forced to bear the pain of his only son losing his wife and spiralling into despair and yet did not grow embittered, always supporting Artaresto and guiding him, or attempting to, when he got lost in the darkness of his grief.

And no doubt Eldalótë as well, the strong, fierce lady who could have commanded armies by one look had she wanted to, the one who loved her son so much she wished to storm the gates of Angamando to punished those who caused him pain. They were all gone to the halls of Mandos, to across the sea, and she would never see them again, never hear Aikanáro laugh and see Angaráto smile...the loss was overwhelming, and Galadriel was enveloped by her pain for weeks and months that followed, consoled and taken care of by Celeborn, whose gentle embraces were her lifeline.

Lady Melian sought her out after a time, to join her power of healing to Celeborn's support, and together they gradually lifted Galadriel out of the deepest pits of her grief.

But just as she was learning to think of other matters beyond her pain, it turned out that the sorrow of those days was not yet over. In all those confused and broken emotions Galadriel was feeling from those whose mind was habitually opened to her, she suddenly felt a thought, clear as a day, such as was unusual when using mind speech over a distance. That thought was 'I am sorry. Please forgive me,' accompanied by grief and remorse and guilt so profound that she could not even begin to comprehend it before it suddenly turned to rage, wrath that burned white hot, and made her stagger where she stood. Celeborn caught her and she looked into distance, where that fire that was close to madness laid. It belonged to Ñolofinwë, she knew. "No, uncle," she begged, for she sensed that something dreadful was to happen, "no. I forgive you. We all forgive you." She knew, however, even as she said it, that it was too late, because he could no longer hear anything.

Still, she stayed focused on his mind, wanting, needing to know, and the burn of his anger did not diminish as hours passed, and she could only sense some terrible purpose behind it - and then, more dreadful than she could have ever imagined, the image of Moricotto stood before her eyes, so strong that she knew her uncle could not have suppressed it had he wanted to. And as he raised his sword and she watched him fight, strong and fearless and furious but still, she knew, not enough, words uttered a long time ago, in a happier land, sounded in Galadriel's mind as if she heard them here and now: 'Vala he is, you say. Then you have sworn in vain, for none of the Valar can you overcome now or ever within the halls of Ea, not though Eru whom you name had made you thrice greater than you are.'

"Did you forget, my uncle?" She asked quietly, sadly, even as she stopped feeling his anger and she could no longer see the terrible form of the Enemy and she knew it meant Ñolofinwë was dead.

She had never known anything like this before, for even though Angaráto and Aikanáro had been her brothers, and even though she had been arguing with him recently, Ñolofinwë had been like a father to her for many years, the one she trusted and confided in and the one she had had faith in to lead them through all misfortune, despite everything.

She was hollow, she felt, hollow and numb with such grief that could not be put into words. If Celeborn had not been holding her, she would have fallen to her knees. He now carried her to a settee and looked at her in worry. "He is dead," she told him, numbly, "they are all dead." And then, she wept, sinking back into that dark pit, deeper than ever before.

Queen Melian hurried to her side, feeling her deep sorrow, but not even her soft songs that remembered Aman to all who heard them could calm Galadriel's heart this time, because the High King of the Noldor was dead, her uncle, Ñolofinwë, the father of her closest friend, and grandfather of the dearest one, he was dead!

What happened to his body, she wondered some days or weeks or months later, in one of those moments when her numbness returned. Did Moricotto break it into pieces and feed it to his monsters? Was he not even to be allowed to have a grave? A place where his sons could remember him?

Turukáno...was he glad now, she wondered, knowing that his father was dead, that he did not ride into battle to help them? A city full of fighters such as Laurefindil and Ehtelion...it might have made all the difference. Or at least enough that her brothers and uncle would now still be alive.

She fought with every shred of will she had to prevent her grief turning into hatred, but it was so very, very hard...she wished she had, at least, something to expend that energy upon, for she felt she was going insane in the halls of Thousand Caves.

That was when Queen Melian told her that the war had calmed down, and it was safe enough to cross to Hithlum for the moment. "Do not stay too long, though," she said. "A year, and then you must leave again."

What Melian's songs could not accomplish was achieved the promise of a possibility to go, to do something, and to see Findekáno and console him in his even deeper grief. Galadriel emerged from the depths of her sorrow, gave her word not to stay in Hithlum above a year, and with her husband by her side to support her, set out on a journey that was much more dangerous now than it used to be. She thought of nothing but Aman on her way north, of Olórin and Itarillë and Lady Arien. She knew that if she needed to heal others, she had to close her own wounds first.

However, seeing Findekáno now, in his raw grief and with his father's crown on his head, was like the wounds were opened anew, and they held each other and wept for a long time upon setting eyes on each other. "What can I do?" He asked her then. "What can I do?"

His grief was not only for the past, she saw, but also for the present. Artaresto with his people, including his son, was still defending Tol Sirion against the onslaught. "But I cannot help him," Findekáno said, "Hithlum in under siege, and we cannot get through the enemy to him. My own kind – indeed, he is my heir now, effectively, for Turukáno," he said bitterly, "hidden as he is, can hardly rule, and I cannot go to help him. Why were we not rather destroyed in one stroke?"

"Do not speak this way!" Galadriel said, forcing herself to find some strength of hope in that ocean of grief. What she could not have done for herself, she could now do for him. "Hope may yet be born, though we do not see it at the moment. Do not give up, beloved, do not."

Findekáno smiled sadly, as they both thought about how it was usually him who gave these assurances to others. "The crown weights heavily," he replied, "heavier that I would have thought."

"Have faith and pray," she said. "True hope lies beyond the coast."

"Yet have I not forfeited that, in Alqualondë? I know you can hope in that and pray for that, but can I?"

And once again Galadriel heard, as if it was speaking now, a voice of old: 'not even the echo of your lamentation shall pass over the mountains.' Yet she also remembered something else, the miraculous deliverance of Maitimo; and so she said: "Did not an eagle of Lord Manwë himself come to your help in one dark hour, long ago? They took mercy on us and heard our prayers then, and it may happen again. Do not despair, though the hour is dark. I beg you."

But then she had to leave him, for she spoke more strongly than she felt. She did not know if the Valar would take pity on them, and could not foresee any good end. Yet Findekáno needed strength now, not her darkest thought – and so did she, if she wanted to heal any of the wounded. So, casting her mind back to Aman, she set to work.

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Faithful to the word she gave to Lady Melian, a year later, to the day, Galadriel left Hithlum – but she did not head directly to Thousand Caves. Instead, she went to Narogrotto to search out her remaining brother.

"I have made the oath you have warned me against, sister," he said after welcoming her at his gates and fastening the dwarven necklace around her neck. He told her how he had been saved from certain death by the valiant people of Beor and added: "Do you still think it foolish?"

"It was not wise, no; but it was just and right, and I would never hold such a decision against you. Indeed, the gratefulness of all of us to them is immeasurable," she added, indicating the people of Narogrotto around her. Inglor nodded and said: "Indeed, we are much indebted," but she saw a grimace flash in Guilin's face that indicated his gratefulness was somewhat limited. Galadriel filed this away for later – it was unexpected from the venerable councillor.

"They stayed there, fighting, while I ran," Ingoldo confessed, not noticing anything strange. "And while I know I had responsibility for my kingdom, I feel like I have broken my oath already – but they did not call on me to fulfil it in that moment, and indeed urged me to go and return here."

"Then they were wiser than you in that moment – for who would have ruled your kingdom in your absence?"

He looked at her silently, and she was touched to see he meant her to be his successor, but she was not certain she would have been accepted – not by all, at least. Not only for being a nis, she knew, but for not being from Narogrotto as well.

"It was not only Beor's people who died for me," Ingoldo said quietly as they set out for the feast hall ahead of all others. "Many of Narogrotto have perished as well. Not as many as of our brothers' people, but still. Hundreds. Gelmir, Guilin's son, was taken by the Enemy. How can I look my High Councillor in the face now? Why do I live, and his son does not? Have I not sworn to protect my people?"

Galadriel wordlessly pressed his hand. They both knew there was no answer to such questions, but at least she had an answer to hers now – no wonder Guilin did not celebrate his king's happy return with cheerful joy, when his own son had not come back.

They entered the feast hall and she was ready to take her mind off the terrible things that have been happening – until she saw Curufinwë and Tyelkormo seated at the table, Curufinwë with a silver-haired, haggard lady and a very young, Noldorin looking nér by his side.

She stared at this physical evidence of what she had only known from rumour until now. So this was Midhel, Doroneth's sister, abducted and ruined by Galadriel's own cousin...and this was her son, the only grandchild of Fëanáro. She was glad they had found refuge in Narogrotto – her cousins, however, had no place in her brother's realm. Celeborn next to her was shaking in anger, she saw, and Galadriel had some trouble calming him when her own mind was in a whirl.

She managed not to let her polite mask slip during dinner, closing her mind, but as soon as Ingoldo left the hall, she followed after him. "What are those two doing here?" She asked.

Ingoldo looked a little sheepish. "Their homes were destroyed," he said as he continued walking towards his chambers. "They and their people sought refuge with me."

"And you let them?" Galadriel asked incredulously, finding it hard to control her voice. "Curufinwë abducted his wife, the sister of my sister-in-law! She sits there in your hall, haggard and afraid, and you treat her kidnapper like a guest of honour."

He shook his head. "I understand your misgivings, but we do not truly know what happened with Atarinkë's wife. I know what Maitimo told you, and that she looks unwell, but they have just lost their land. It is not so strange she would be upset. I have offered her protection and she refused me and said she was happy with her husband."

Galadriel frowned. That was unexpected, but… "What if she only says so because she fears him? I can _sense_ there is something wrong."

"What would you have me do?" Ingoldo asked with a sigh as he opened the door to his chambers.

"Send Curufinwë away," she replied, "and Tyelkormo as well, for he will never let his brother go without him."

"I cannot cast them out on a suspicion!"

"Suspicion? Even before Midhel, you knew perfectly well that they are the worst of all Fëanáro's sons, the most vicious, the most arrogant, the most fanatical and the least great. They are fell, and they will bring ruin to you, your realm and your people. I beg you, turn them away!"

Ingoldo stood his ground. "I already promised them my hospitality and told them this will be their home. These are difficult times, and we have to help each other, not become even more divided. That is what the enemy wants."

"Yes, and they will give it to him, by turning the Sindar against you because of Midhel and by antagonizing all in your land, because that is their talent. Ingoldo, if you ever had an ounce of trust in my wisdom and foresight, I beg you again, send them away!"

"I cannot."

"You named me the heiress of your realm in your mind a short while ago. Does not that, at least, give me some right to have a say in this? Brother, I beg you, for the third time, cast them out!"

"No."

Galadriel tore the dwarven necklace from her neck and threw it at Ingoldo's feet. "Just empty words, brother," she said, "it was all just empty words and vain gestures."

Then, she collected Celeborn and left Narogrotto the very same day she came, her anger blazing so that even had they met any enemies on the way, they would not have dared to approach her. And only Eru himself knew how soon, if ever, she would have come back if she had not heard, six months later, that Tol Sirion fell and that Artaresto with his children was now to be found in Narogrotto, too.

Whatever grief she had against Ingoldo – and it was not a small one, for she felt betrayed, and Celeborn was still simmering with anger – it was not enough to keep her from her nephew, who needed her, she knew. And so, unsure of her welcome for the first time in history of that kingdom, she set out to Narogrotto.

Ingoldo welcomed her at the gates as usual, but his face was serious and he did not take the dwarven necklace off his neck to give it to her, as he always had before. "Sister," he said, "welcome to my realm, and allow me to invite you to my rooms for a much needed talk."

"Yes, I will come, Ingoldo," she replied, "but I want to see Artanáro and his father and sister first."

He merely nodded to this and led her inside to where the rest of his household was waiting, Artaresto and his children among them. It was salt in her wounds to see Curufinwë and Tyelkormo there amongst the most honoured, just next to Guilin, in fact, but she forced her eyes to turn to those of her kin she did not despise instead.

She approached her nephew, unsure here too, and was troubled to see that the deep wounds of his soul were even deeper now that his parents were dead and his lands were taken and turned into lands of monsters. Findoiolosse seemed lost and a little bewildered, and she avoided Galadriel's eyes, just as her father taught her to avoid her aunt at all, if possible. Artanáro, however, looked up into her eyes directly, and she saw his pain. "Come," she said, "let us walk."

They did, and he poured out the whole terrible story of the desperate defence of Minas Tirith. He was shaken by the things he saw, but more so, even, by something else. "How can we be alive," he said, "and my grandparents and Aikanáro and the king dead?"

It was an echo of the questions Ingoldo had asked her, and the same question she was asking herself, even though she did not want to say. Artaresto had never been a fighter, and his wife's death had weakened him. He must have been fighting for his children, for there was no other thing, she believed, that would have kept him there so long. "You father showed admirable strength," she said. "His fortress held longer than others-"

"Because it was easier to defend it than my grandparents' and Aikanáro's seat! Where is the justice in that?"

He was too clever to be fooled by vain assurances. "- and in your escape, one of the few remaining heirs of the new king was saved. There is purpose in your survival, and it was a good thing you escaped. The One has plans with you."

"It was not The One's plans that assured that," he replied, "it was my father's insistence we leave."

"Your father knew you would not have gone if he stayed fighting, and so he went with you," Galadriel replied, troubled.

Artanáro turned his sorrowful eyes to her. "My father," he said, "wanted to go full half a year before we did. I convinced him to stay longer."

Galadriel sighed deeply. She had not wished for her nephew to see that, at least not so soon. "It is not an easy task, being a Noldorin prince," she said. "Your father should have stayed in Aman – he was not cut for Middle-Earth, as I well knew. But once he came, he had to do his part. It was never easy for him, and your mother's death hurt him deeply. His spirit might not survive losing you or Findoiolosse. And so, he left, rather than dying in vain."

"Do you believe your brothers died in vain?"

Another sigh. "I do not know what their chances of escape were, and how soon could they have known that their stand was in vain, so I cannot answer that."

"The king's, then."

Galadriel gave him a small smile without mirth. "You ask hard questions today, beloved. No, I do not believe the king's death was in vain, but I still wish he had not rode to it. He showed us that while the Enemy cannot be defeated by us, he can be hurt, and we can make him bleed; and that has some value, but the price seems to high to me, and I begged him, before he rode, not to do so. He did not hear me, however."

"So you think, then, that we should fight only when we can win?" Artanáro enquired.

Galadriel shook her head. "No – also, when we can help by fighting. Your stand at Tol Sirion was not in vain, because you made the lands secure for two more years. I could cross to Hithlum, and I healed many there that would otherwise have died."

"And how do we know when this is? How do we know when it is worth it?"

"That is one of the hardest question that can be asked at all. King Findekáno," and how it still hurt to say those words, "made me swear, once, that I would not risk my life unless absolutely necessary, because he said that my advice was too valuable to lose it." Something that would be easier to believe if it was listened to, she thought bitterly. "That is, sometimes, the most difficult thing. You might be forced to let others die while you retreat, because preserving your life is, for some reason, more important at the moment than helping. Such decisions make wounds on the soul that last."

He nodded. "We did that in Minas Tirith," he said quietly, and Galadriel embraced him. He was far, far too young in her mind to know these things, and her hatred of the Enemy rose in another degree.

After she made sure that Artanáro was feeling well enough to go to his father and sister, she, with fear she tried to deny she was feeling, sought out her brother.

He looked very dignified as he welcomed her in his chambers, but once she closed the door behind her, he seemed to deflate.

"I am afraid I owe you an apology," he said, looking at her across the room.

"I could do without one easily, if I only knew you sent them away," she replied.

"I cannot do that," he said, "please understand I cannot. And yet I see the truth of what you had said, I perceive already the discord they are sowing in my realm and I realize that all is not well in Curufinwë's marriage."

"You are the king. You can tell them to go."

"My heart will not let me."

"Ingoldo..."

"I know, sister, I know. But can you understand that I could not live with such a decision afterwards?"

"At least free Midhel from her husband!" Galadriel exclaimed, frustrated.

He sighed. "But what can I do when every time I speak to her, she tells me all is well?" He asked. "I cannot go against her will, surely you see that! I made him remove the guard from her door, but it makes no change. She never leaves her chambers except for formal events where she accompanies Curufinwë. She tells me she is happy, and while I know it is not true, I cannot force her."

"All the more reason to cast them out."

"Not even for this does Curufinwë deserve to be thrown to the enemy."

Galadriel tended to disagree here, but it _was_ true that they did not know what exactly he did to his wife. An unhappy marriage in itself would hardly be grounds enough. Unless Midhel spoke, they would get nowhere. "You do not have responsibility only for yourself," she said aloud.

"But I cannot, not even for my kingdom, do things that would be wrong. I am not Elwë...or Turukáno."

Such sharp words from Ingoldo were unusual, but she refrained from commenting on it. "And thank the Valar for that," she said instead, "but there is no need to take it to the other extreme."

He sighed. "I will admit that I probably should not have taken them in, but I cannot turn them out now. Please understand. Do not force me."

Those words reminded her of Aikanáro, and she looked away. Both of her brothers, when they said them, simply meant that she should not continue pressuring them. They did not know that much darker thoughts were going through her mind sometimes, and in this moment, they were especially pressing. Ingoldo was strong, but not quite as strong as her, and it was likely she would have been able to control him by her will for long enough to make sure that he...no. No! She would never do such a thing to her own brother, no matter what terrible consequences would be the result of his decision. Exhausted, she exhaled. "I will not," she said.

"Will you take the dwarven necklace back?" He asked.

She looked at the beautiful piece of jewellery around her brother's throat. "No," she said. "It would have been a lie. I am willing to take the rule of the realm after you, should you die – though now that he is here, I believe you will leave it to Artaresto – but while you live, you are the ruler of this kingdom, and it was folly pretending otherwise. As with Findekáno, I am only ever your advisor."

He did not reply to that. In fact, he was silent for a long time, and then asked: "Why do you believe the realm will pass to Artaresto?"

What could she say that would not hurt her brother more and widen the chasm between them, and yet still be true? "Because he is your heir, by the rules of inheritance," she said at length, "and he will be living here now. It will seem like a better solution to you, in the end."

"You do not agree."

How could I? "No. But that will not change your mind." Because in spite of everything, she thought, none of you, my brothers, truly believed that I could be a ruling queen.

The bitterness threatened to overwhelm her, and so she left her brother as soon as she heard the most essential news about his kingdom and went to see to a different task. She waited until she knew for certain that Curufinwë has in what had apparently become his forge before heading to his rooms, where she found Midhel sitting on a sofa. She appeared to be praying, but when she heard the door, she raised her head immediately, and her eyes widened in fear. "My lady Galadriel," she said. "What are you doing here?"

"I came to see you."

"My husband...wouldn't wish it, I fear."

"Fortunately, I don't care one whit about what your husband thinks and I don't need to fear him, so that doesn't bother me. Now tell me, do you wish to return to Doriath with me?"

Something flashed in Midhel's eyes for a moment, but it was gone too soon. "I'd quite like a short visit to my family again, yes," she said, "but I can't leave my son."

"Then take him with you," Galadriel suggested, sitting down to the sofa as well, uninvited.

Midhel seemed to shrink away from her a little. "He wouldn't understand."

Galadriel raised her eyebrows. "He wouldn't understand your desire to see your parents?"

Midhel bit her lip. "No, he...he'd tell my husband, and my husband wouldn't wish me to go."

"Then go against his wishes."

She flinched. "That wouldn't be right," she said weakly.

Galadriel gave her a long look. "You don't have to pretend with me," she said then. "I know what Curufin is like, and I know he kidnapped you."

Midhel was beginning to shake a little, and Galadriel slowly and carefully took her hand and thought of healing and of Aman and of Lady Melian, letting the light spread and envelop the Sindarin lady in its soft protection, calming her and relaxing her, putting her worries to rest, allowing her to trust at least a little. Midhel found the strength to say, in a small voice: "If you believe that, you must know he'd prevent me from going, even had I wanted to."

"You're in Nargothrond now, not in his fortress," Galadriel pointed out, still using all her skill to keep Midhel calm. "My brother rules here. Curufin can't prevent you from anything."

Midhel, however, shook her head vehemently. "No," she said. "You don't know him like I do. He is clever...he is capable of everything." Then she seemed to remember herself and added. "And, as I said, I don't wish to go."

Nerwen looked into the lady's eyes for a long moment. She wondered what had happened to that group from Doriath who had gone to try and rescue her. She somehow doubted they survived the battle. It was quite likely that Curufinwë had left them in the cells for the enemy to take. No wonder Midhel was so terrified of him. The Nolde sighed. "Why would your son tell on you?" She asked, pressing Midhel's hand.

The Sinda closed her eyes. "He...doesn't know why he shouldn't. I never told him anything about the...origin of my marriage. He knows we aren't...always perfectly happy together, of course, but not how it all started. I don't want to ruin his life, to ruin his childhood and young years with my complaints. I want to let him have a normal relationship with his father. Curufin can be kind to him, sometimes, especially in the forge. I don't want to destroy that."

Galadriel gave her a troubled look. Her son could have been her only ally, and she ruined that possibility by not telling him anything. The Nolde would not be too surprised if it had been Curufinwë who put this idea into his wife's head…

"At least write letters to your relatives," she said. "I'll deliver them personally."

Midhel hesitated, then nodded very weakly.

Galadriel left the Sinda alone for that job, and headed to her next destination. It was now time to meet her new cousin.

From what Ingoldo had told her, Tyelperinquar tended to spend a good portion of his time in the forge with his father, so Galadriel had to wait for Curufinwë to be holed up somewhere with his brother before she could go and meet him properly, beyond a mere glimpse in the feast hall.

"Lady Galadriel," he said, surprised, when she entered. He stood up and bowed a little. "What can I do for you?"

"Give me a few minutes of your time," she replied with a smile.

"Of course. Do you wish to go somewhere more comfortable?"

"No, your forge is fine. What are you working on?"

"Father has been teaching me to make proper gauntlets," the young Noldo replied, showing her the unfinished product. "It is a surprisingly difficult task."

Galadriel took it and briefly examined it. It was very well done. "It is exceptional," she told him. "I do admire good craftsmanship, even though I am afraid I never had much interest in attempting it myself, making me a bit peculiar among my Noldorin relations."

"Yes, Father told me," Tyelperinquar replied, then blushed.

Galadriel laughed. "He would have," she said. "I assume you have already realized your father and I are not on the best of terms."

He nodded. "My father...can be rather harsh sometimes," he said quietly.

"Yes," Galadriel agreed. "But I would like you to know that it does not mean I will not be on good terms with you. Your mother is related by marriage to my husband, and you are one of the few great-grandchildren of grandfather Finwë. I would not wish to lose the opportunity to know you only because you father and I...do not see eye to eye."

Tyelperinquar smiled at her. "Thank you," he said.

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AN _:_ I sincerely recommend watching some kitten videos now or something.

Also, Midhel is my response to Aredhel's story in many ways.


	24. Fate

**Chapter 24: Fate**

 _Year 464 of the Sun, Doriath_

Galadriel had gone North as soon as she saw the Enemy's most recent attack in Findekáno's mind, and so, for the first time, saw the direct aftermath of a truly bloody battle. When she had come after the Battle of Sudden Flame, most causalities were already dead and buried. Now, they were all laid for her to see, and it took her two years to heal all that could be healed, two years of exhausting, relentless work. Only when winter threatened to make the way even more dangerous than it now was once again, she returned to Doriath, accompanied to its borders by a strong guard her cousin sent with her.

She welcomed the bliss of the forest after the exhaustion and grief she was leaving behind, even as she despised King Singollo for hiding in it while her people suffered and bled – and did so for his safety, too, for not even the Girdle of Melian could have withstood it for ever had the Enemy's eyes turned solely upon it.

This, she felt, is what Doriath should be – a refugee for those too exhausted by the war efforts, to regain their strength; for Midhel to recover, if she would finally agree to leave Narogrotto for Doriath with her – not a place too hide for those too cowardly to play they part in ensuring that Middle-Earth was as free of the shadow as possible. How simpler her healing could have been if she could have done it here, in the blessed forests! This time, her pride did not even mind that her healing art would have, in such a case, taken second place to Queen Melian's. She had seen too much suffering for anything to overcome her compassion.

Nevertheless, she would have been glad to enjoy the quiet refuge of the forest, but as it was, she did not have long to do so, for when she returned, Lúthien came to her with a serious matter on her mind.

There was something at the same time joyous and fearful in her face that made Galadriel immediately alert, since there was usually nothing but serene bliss – and sometimes, the anxiety of one being confined into this world as if it were a cage - to be seen in her friend. "Come with me to the forest," said the Princess of Doriath, and so Galadriel hurried across the bridge from Thousand Caves, uneasy with her premonitions. She grew even more so when Lúthien walked on deep into the woods, deeper than she normally would, before she spoke for the first time. Then, she turned to her friend and declared: "Galadriel...I've fallen in love."

The sounds of battle and dying and weeping filled Galadriel's mind, the strength of the vision crashing so strongly into her that she had to reach out a hand to steady herself against the nearest tree to avoid falling. She saw Singollo's wrath, and she also saw Lúthien's suffering. The faint foreknowledge of this that she had had from the start of her stay in Doriath, since she met King Singollo, almost, was now turned into certainty, and she knew, also, that it would lead to the end of all they knew, for good or bad.

Nevertheless, it always seemed like almost a sin to spoil the simple joy that usually dominated Lúthien's world with worries about the future, and what she just announced should surely be a happy occasion, so Galadriel mastered her expression and said: "I'm very happy for you."

"You don't exactly look like you are," Lúthien observed, looking at her with an unflinching gaze.

"I'm a little worried about your father's reaction, that is all," she replied, thinking that this must surely be the understatement of the age. "Who is the happy one?"

"His name is Beren, son of Barahir, of the House of Beor," Lúthien replied.

Strangely enough, the first though through Galadriel's head at that moment was: who knew Eru had a sense of humour?

She fought against the darkness that threatened to engulf her, for she knew, now, why there was no escaping the tragedy that would follow – though she did not know yet why the whole world should be pulled into it.

She also understood in that moment that a union between the two kinds had always been part of Eru's plan and that when her brother had turned against it, others were meant to take this place. When one of the brightest flames of the Noldor did not join his fate with a mortal woman, the most beautiful flower of Singollo's kingdom would join hers with that of a Man. Or she would die in the attempt.

The knowledge that fate had a hand in this was reassuring, because otherwise, she would have worried if the man truly returned Lúthien's love, or if he was just enchanted by her beauty. But she supposed that the doom of the world was not habitually changed by a mere fancy...at least she hoped so.

"The flame must be strong," she said simply, to Lúthien.

"Yes. It's bright and wonderful and I've never been so happy before, and yet...I'm afraid."

Galadriel had reason to believe Lúthien had never been afraid before, either. She pressed her friend's hand. "I understand," she said. "Whatever you do, don't tell your father. You can go to your mother though – she knows anyway."

Lúthien thought about it for a moment. "Yes," she said, "I suppose she would."

Galadriel smiled, in spite of her grim visions. "She'd known this for a long time before it happened, perhaps even from the very beginning. Don't worry, she won't betray you to the king, even though she tells him everything otherwise. But don't tell anyone else."

"Not even Celeborn?" Lúthien sounded surprised.

"Do you particularly wish to tell him?" They had never had an especially close friendship. "I'd rather you didn't, in any case – he wouldn't betray you, but it's cruel to make him go against the loyalty to his king when it isn't necessary. That's why I tell you not to tell anyone else. They're all your father's subjects, and they might feel it was their duty to make it known to him."

"Are you not his subject, too?" This seemed to be the first time Lúthien contemplated the problem.

Galadriel smiled again. "Strictly speaking, yes, but you know I've never felt or acted that way. If I was somebody's subject in this kingdom, it'd have been your mother." Her smile grew sad and melancholy. "Your father, I mainly used as an excuse to get out of listening to the High King of the Noldor in Middle-Earth." Then she embraced her friend, and despite herself, said: "Don't let anyone spoil the beauty of love for you, beloved. There is nothing more wonderful in this world." She paused. "Tell me about this Man of yours."

Lúthien did, at length. Afterwards, when she went back to see him, Galadriel returned to Thousand Caves, searching out her brother's and cousin's mind. "Prepare for trouble," she warned them as clearly as she could. Useless as this kind of information was, unfortunately, she could not give them a more detailed warning. Her foresight did not go that far.

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They continued like this for a short while, but Galadriel knew it would not be indefinitely. She made Lúthien promise that if her father ever found out, she would make him swear not to hurt Beren, if there was still time for that. Lúthien looked a little bewildered that Galadriel thought her father would go that far, but she promised nevertheless. The Noldorin princess worried, however, that once the king did find out, there would be no time for any promises.

It seemed to be a summer day like any other, but Galadriel was plagued by dark foreboding since the early hours of the morning. She was restless, and was glad to see Lúthien coming back from her meeting with Beren, for she would want to tell her about it and that would serve as a nice distraction. So she welcomed her and was just suggesting a walk in the forest after they ate something when Oropher stood before them, looking rather frightened. "The King wants to see you, my lady," he said to Lúthien.

Knowing with ice-cold certainty that this was the hour when the fate of the world will be decided, Galadriel stood and went with her friend, pressing her hand in silent support. She did not need to say anything. Lúthien knew well enough what this meant. She was not, strangely enough, gifted by much foresight – but perhaps it was not so strange, Galadriel never met anyone else who could become so entirely focused on the present moment – but if nothing else, she saw it clearly in Galadriel's mind.

They arrived to the throne room, which was a bad sign in itself. Singollo and Lady Melian were both there, and the Queen looked like despair had touched her, something Galadriel had not thought possible before.

The king turned his eyes to his daughter. "The strangest news have reached me," he said. "It's reported that you've been seeing a mortal man in my lands. What possessed you, beloved, to give any of your attention to such an unworthy object, instead of warning me that there were intruders in my kingdom? Do you want to forsake your father and his realm, and leave it open to all kinds of danger? I don't understand you, and it grieves me greatly to hear of such a thing that I can only call betrayal. Does your own kin mean nothing to you? Would you forsake them for such that is unworthy to even walk in the halls of Thousand Caves?"

Galadriel never thought she would be grateful for the selfishness she knew was in Lúthien, but she was now, for it meant that the form of pressure Singollo was attempting to exert would never work. She exchanged a glance with her, reminding her of her promise, and Lúthien turned back to her father and said: "I'll not say a word, father and king, unless you swear to me that you'll neither slay nor imprison him."

Singollo was visibly upset by this reaction. Clearly, he had been hoping that it was just a rumour, or perhaps a passing fancy. Nevertheless, he said: "I swear this to you, my daughter."

And she looked him straight in the eyes as she said: "Yes, father, he is a mortal man and I love him."

Galadriel almost groaned. Clearly, they should have talked the future scenarios through in little more detail. There had been ways to soften the blow, but of course Lúthien, inexperienced in these things, did not know them, or even realize how much they were needed. Though she would, and soon, because Singollo stood up from his throne, his face turned to cold stone, and said to his servants: "Go! Bring this presumptuous mortal to my halls, but not as a guest."

Hearing these words, Lúthien ran out of the hall before them, the desire to get to Beren first foremost in her mind, and after she left, the king turned to Galadriel. "What," he said, "did you know about this?"

She sighed. It had been too much to hope he would not make the connection, really. He knew she and Lúthien were friends, and he also knew she did not feel any loyalty to him that would make her tell him. She took a step forward and decided that, all complaints that Lúthien was not discreet enough notwithstanding, there was no point in denying it and she might as well face the situation with dignity. Looking him in the eye, she said: "I knew that Lúthien was in love."

"Did you know it was with a Man?"

"Yes."

He approached her, his anger apparent: "And why didn't you tell me?"

"Because, King Thingol, Lúthien is a dear friend of mine."

"And so you'd have her tie her life to a mortal? Strange friendship indeed!"

"I've felt the flame of The One," she replied, looking briefly towards Celeborn, who stood next to her in silent support, "and so I know not to try and keep anyone from the one to whom they are thus bound." She would have to apologize to Queen Melian later for the insinuation that her husband did not know what love was.

"The flame of The One! Can mortal men even feel it?"

She was not certain about this, actually – but there was one thing she did know. "Your daughter can."

"My daughter believes herself in love, yes, doubtless because that lowly creature charmed her in some dark way," Singollo said and Galadriel wanted to laugh at the idea that a Man could use spells on the daughter of Queen Melian. "But she's inexperienced in the world and doesn't recognize the reality of her situation."

If the matter had not been so serious, it would have been greatly amusing how much this resembled the tens of talks with upset Noldorin fathers Galadriel had gone through over the years. "You don't trust your own daughter, and daughter of Lady Melian also, to recognize the flame of The One when she feels it?"

He did not reply, aware how absurd it would have been to assent. Those who could not recognize it were those that lived in deceit and denial, and no one would believe anything like that about the straightforward, open Lúthien.

The king returned to his throne, and they waited in silence and suspense for hours, until Lúthien entered with her chosen husband. He was fair enough, Galadriel had to grant – she had not seen him before, for Lúthien was unwilling to share her time with him. He looked, however, rather struck by the halls of Thousand Caves.

"Who are you," the King asked, "that come here as a thief, and unbidden dare to approach my throne?"

But Beren was silent, still in awe, and so Lúthien spoke: "He's Beren son of Barahir, lord of Men, mighty foe of Morgoth, the tale of whose deeds is become a song even among the Elves."

That was not going to impress Singollo, Galadriel knew, even though it should have. "Let Beren speak!" He said, and turned to the Man with a barrage of insults disguised as questions.

Beren looked at Lúthien, and seemed to find some strength there, and then he looked at Lady Melian and it was enough to give him courage to speak. "My fate, O King, led me here," he said, and his voice was slowly gaining strength, "through perils such as few even of the Elves would dare. And here I've found what I sought not indeed, but finding I'd possess for ever. For it is above all gold and silver, and beyond all jewels. Neither rock, nor steel, nor the fires of Morgoth, nor all the powers of the Elf-kingdoms, shall keep from me the treasure that I desire. For Lúthien your daughter is the fairest of all the Children of the World."

Galadriel's vision grew dark. Would that he had stayed silent... A humorous thought appeared in her mind, as it often seemed to in these dark situations lately: she could see where they were well matched. Neither of them was worth anything as a diplomat.

Celeborn stepped closer to her, fear evident in his mind.

"Death you have earned with these words," the King said, "and death you'd find suddenly, had I not sworn an oath in haste; of which I repent, baseborn mortal, who in the realm of Morgoth has learnt to creep in secret as his spies and thralls."

Oh, well done. Galadriel, continuing in the irreverent thoughts that saved her from despair, considered that she now knew how this could turn into a conflict that encompassed the whole world. If it continued escalating at this rate…

As if he heard her, Beren said: "Death you can give me earned or unearned; but the names I won't take from you of baseborn, nor spy, nor thrall. By the ring of Felagund, that he gave to Barahir my father on the battle field of the North, my house hasn't earned such names from any Elf, be he king or no." And he raised his hand with her brother's ring.

Galadriel's chest tightened. Please, she begged, do not drag my brother into your doom – and yet even as she thought it, she knew it was in vain, for this here was the oath that would cost Ingoldo his life, as he had foretold.

She saw Lady Melian whisper something to the king, but she knew it would be in vain, as must have the Queen. Galadriel did not blame her for trying nevertheless, for she could doubtless see that their own doom was swiftly approaching. The Nolde herself was attempting to control her raising anger. That this man with his foolish words and this pretence of a king would cause the death of her brother, the most kind-hearted and good of all the elves in Middle-Earth, was beyond tolerable. And through that anger, she heard the next words the king spoke: "I see the ring, son of Barahir, and I perceive that you're proud, and deem yourself mighty," the king said, almost sneering. "But a father's deeds, even had his service been rendered to me, avail not to win the daughter of Thingol and Melian. See now! I too desire a treasure that is withheld. For rock and steel and the fires of Morgoth keep the jewel that I'd possess against all the powers of the Elf-kingdoms. Yet I hear you say that bonds such as these don't daunt you. Go your way therefore! Bring to me in your hand a Silmaril from Morgoth's crown."

He spoke on, but Galadriel no longer heard him, for the moment he pronounced the name of the jewel of Fëanáro, the weight of her visions obscured most of her senses – and the rest was clouded in anger. How dare he, this Sindarin lord, to as much as speak the name of the gems the Noldor have suffered so much for? She despised many of the sons of Fëanáro, but the heritage was theirs, and stealing from thieves did not make ownership. Singollo had no right to ever as much as set eyes on the Silmarils unless Maitimo allowed it.

She knew, of course, that this was merely the king's attempt to get Beren killed without breaking his oath – something that would have been quite repulsive enough – but he knew about the oath of Fëanáro, and he should have known better then to drag his own lands into their doom. If he cared for something in this world, she had thought he cared about Doriath and his daughter. Now it seemed, however, that it was only ever about himself.

She saw clearly, now, why it was that this love would change the fates of the world – for were they not, as Mandos had said, interwoven with the Silmarils?

Some of her senses returned to her, and she heard Beren promise to undertake this quest, mocking Singollo as he did so. When I return, he said, the Silmaril will be in my hand. Then he looked at Queen Melian, said farewell to Lúthien with only a few words, a press of her hands and a look into her eyes, and left Thousand Caves without a backwards glance. Oh Lúthien, Galadriel though, what a fool your heart had decided on! Now, he had no hope.

Then she heard Lady Melian speak to her husband in bitterness for the first time, as she said: "O King, you've devised cunning counsel. But if my eyes haven't lost their sight, it's ill for you, whether Beren fails in his errand, or achieves it. For you have doomed either your daughter, or yourself. And now Doriath is drawn within the fate of a mightier realm."

Singollo was, as ever, unconcerned by his wife's advice. "I sell not to Elves or Men those whom I love and cherish above all treasure," he replied. "And if there was hope or fear that Beren should come back alive to Thousand Caves, he wouldn't have looked again upon the light of heaven, though I had sworn it!"

At those words, Lúthien turned and left the hall, and Galadriel followed behind her.

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Galadriel had considered going after Beren to beg him not to drag her brother into this, but decided against this. She knew it would ultimately be in vain, and feared above anything the possibility that she would, by her entreaty, only remind Beren of her brother's possible help, and so his demise would ultimately be her fault.

Instead, she went after Lúthien and tried to calm her, joined soon enough by Queen Melian. Galadriel could see that the Queen had tried reasoning with her husband once more, in privacy, and when she saw it was fruitless, went to console her daughter.

That was rather bothersome, for Galadriel had advice for Lúthien she would rather not give in front of her mother. As it was, she had to conceal her thoughts and wait until some duties recalled the Queen before turning to the princess and saying: "Lúthien, go after him now."

The Sindarin princess seemed confused. "What?"

"Your father sent him to his death, and he foolishly accepted the challenge. At best, he'll die; at worst, he'll drag others down with him, those he'll ask for help and who love him too much to refuse, even in such a helpless task. Leave Doriath now and go to him. I'll go with you, and we can go to my brother in Nargothrond or my cousin in Hithlum. They'll welcome you," that was close to a lie – they would have hesitated to accept a daughter of a powerful king against his wishes – but Galadriel knew she could convince them, "and you can live there in peace, and what is more important, live at all, be together, without your father's grudge reaching you."

But Lúthien had never before left Doriath, and she was loath to go. "Beren said he'd achieve this quest," she replied, "and I trust him. He said he'd return."

"You don't know the Enemy, beloved. I've met him in Valinor, and I have seen him through my uncle's eyes when he faced him in combat. The High King of the Noldor, come from the Blessed Lands, was slain by him. How can your Beren prevail?"

"You are like my father, underestimating him. He is not weak!"

Galadriel straightened to her full height. "Never," she said, "compare me to your father again. My love for you is the only reason I stay in Doriath, for I feel you need my support in these hard times. Your father did a terrible thing to you, and he dared to extend his hand to something to which he has no right. If it wasn't for you, beloved, no one would ever see me in his realm again."

Lúthien sighed. She was not cowed by Galadriel's speech, as most would have been, but she nevertheless saw the reason in it. "I'm sorry," she said. "But I still believe you are being unfair to Beren. Perhaps it's my fault, for not allowing you to meet him. He's strong, I swear to you."

Seeing that this line of argument was fruitless, Galadriel confessed to her fears about her brother. "The oath will be his death if Beren turns to him," she said, "so I beg you once more, come, leave with me and Celeborn and let us find Beren, so that I don't have to stay in these halls that have grown so repulsive to me."

"But if your brother had already foreseen his end," Lúthien replied, "then aren't our attempts in vain? And perhaps with his help, Beren might prevail."

Galadriel had to leave her friend then, at least for a time, for fear of saying something hurtful to her in response to that. Findaráto Ingoldo was not strong enough to defeat the Enemy single-handedly; he was, however, good and foolish and brave enough to die trying.

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It was only about a fortnight later that she heard clearly in her mind her brother's farewell. As it had been with Ñolofinwë, his approaching doom gave him power to communicate more clearly, and he said: "It is now time for me to fulfil my oath. I did leave my kingdom to Artaresto, as you foretold; it is, however, now under Tyelkormo and Atarinkë's control, with Guilin's blessing, and I did not want you to have to suffer their presence. It is not in any state in which I would feel it fit to be handed to anyone, and I only gave its rule to Artaresto because I had to leave my crown to someone. Please do not believe, my sister, that I do not value you. I always did, and now more than ever I am sorry that I did not listen to your councils. I set out only with Edrahil, Inglor, Astar, my captain of guards and a few others. Remember me well, and pray for Beren that at least he may survive."

She attempted to answer him, but she was not near death and did not have the strength to communicate clearly, so she expressed her love as well as she could, in the images she made appear in Ingoldo's mind. She did not want to distract him for long, however, lest he die before his time by some unfortunate incident, and so she soon retreated to her chambers, where she spent the next few days in quiet grief.

Lúthien was now given to wandering the woods alone in silence, when she was not being consoled by Galadriel or her mother. She was gone on one of those walks when Galadriel felt, from Ingoldo's mind, a great shadow, and not long later, spied Lúthien flying through the halls of Thousand Caves. Going after her, she discovered her in the Queen's room. "A weight of horror is upon my heart, mother," the Sindarin princess said. "And I fear for him. Has he perished, as Galadriel said he would?"

Nerwen knew Lady Melian did not uncover the fates of the world for those who could not perceive them themselves; however, her daughter in anguish was clearly an exception. "Not yet," she replied, "but he lies in the dungeons of Tol-in-Gaurhoth without hope of rescue."

Lúthien turned her desperate eyes to Galadriel, and they both left the Queen's chambers. "You were right," the princess said, "I should have gone after him, and now might be too late; but I'll not abandon him and I'll go now, and I'd be glad if you went with me."

"My brother is with Beren," she replied, "and I'd go with you to rescue him, only a word I've given long ago holds me back, that and the knowledge that whatever I do, it won't save my brother, but might bring even more darkness. I will, however, see you at least as far as the borders of Doriath, and help you escape. Wait for me and speak to no one, I'll tell Celeborn our purpose."

Her husband was grieved by the news she brought, and gave her a short embrace full of quiet understanding before he wished her well for the journey. But when she returned from their chambers, she could not find Lúthien, and when she asked, the servants directed her outside the city. There, she saw a house being built high in the trees, and Lúthien held by her own father so that she could not escape before her prison was completed. In that moment, she knew that they were betrayed.

She knew, also, that once Singollo felt Lúthien was secure, he would direct his attention to her and seek to restrain her too, to prevent her assisting in his daughter's escape. And so she turned and disappeared between the trees.

She journeyed to the edges of Doriath, knowing there was not much hope of escaping the king in his own lands, but he sent riders on horses after her and caught up with her before she was out of the realm. When she heard the animals approaching, she stopped and turned, and suddenly she stood before them in her full height and glory, bright and terrible in her fury. "Tell your king," she said before any of the soldiers spoke, "that more than a few riders of his forest folk would be needed to capture a Noldorin princess come from the West when she does not wish to go. Tell him that he should never attempt to lay his hands on me, or have someone else do so, unless he wants to know the wrath of the Noldor. Tell him to continue sitting in his hidden halls and pray that the Silmaril he asked for never reaches him, or his kingdom will be turned into ruin. And tell him that, though Feanor had been as fell as him, he at least had been great! Now go."

And the riders turned and rode in speed back towards Thousand Caves, and Galadriel, after exhaling slowly and willing the wrath she felt to leave her, continued on her journey.

She reached the Girdle of Melian and hid among its spells, knowing the Queen would not betray her. There, she pondered how to help Lúthien escape when she, herself, was now on the run. That was where Celeborn found her.

"I went as soon as I learned that you left without Lúthien," he said. "What are we to do now?"

Galadriel caressed his face. "You didn't have to come," she said. "The King wouldn't have cast you out, and at present, I don't have much to offer you, for I don't want to depart for Hithlum just yet."

"You are waiting for Lúthien?" He guessed.

"Yes, or rather, I'm attempting to think of a way to help her escape."

"I can still enter Doriath without danger, I think," he replied slowly.

"I wouldn't ask that of you, Celeborn. Thingol is still your king, despite everything."

"He attempted to arrest you."

"Yes, and against that I certainly hope you'd have stood, but Lúthien is not me, and she is not your responsibility. No, there has to be some other way."

That possible way they were trying to come up with, when they met Lúthien herself.

She had a robe on her that had power of enchantment in it, and she was different, too, her strength, usually barely noticeable under the surface, somehow more apparent now. "Galadriel," she said with an otherworldly smile, "Celeborn. Have you been waiting for me?"

"We've been trying to think of a way to help you escape," the Nolde replied. "But I see you don't need our assistance."

"No," she agreed serenely. "It was unwise of my father to think he could keep me against my will."

Galadriel wholeheartedly agreed. She was glad that Lúthien was finally coming into her power, though it was in such unfortunate circumstances. But then, she never had any reason to use it before. "I'll go now," the Sindarin princess said, "to help Beren, if I can. You'll stay here?"

Galadriel shook her head. "There is no place for me in Doriath for now," she said. "We'll go to Hithlum. We can go part of the way together, at least."

But Lúthien declined this. "I have this cloak that covers me, but I can't hide you with it. Go through Brethil to your goal, directly, while I'll travel hidden to mine."

Galadriel did not like it, but Lúthien insisted and would not be convinced, and so they set off with a heavy heart for a dangerous journey to Hithlum, for the lands between there and Doriath were no longer safe. The way to Narogrotto was more secure, but that was not where she was bound. In Hithlum, she hoped against all odds she could find help for her brother, that she could convince Findekáno to act in some way. She had great grief in her mind, remembering her words to Artanáro about the worst kind of pain, when one was forced to leave others to die. Her brother was even now lying in the depths of Tol-in-Gaurhoth, and yet she could not go directly to him. She knew she would not help, but it still hurt.

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It was shortly after their arrival to Hithlum, before she managed to talk to Findekáno in more than just a brief greeting, that she felt her brother die.

Some of its light was gone from Middle-Earth forever.

She stared into distance over the mountains, where she knew that his body lay, in what used to be his home. She found it strange that he should die there when it was now the seat of the Enemy.

She remembered his golden hair and his laugh and his good heart and his boundless compassion and his wisdom and quick mind, and from then on, hated Sauron as much as she hated his master.

She sat on the terrace of her house, her hand in Celeborn's, and her heart bled.

She had been grieving for Ingoldo for months already, ever since he set out for this quest, but it was still different to know that there was no changing his death now. All of her brothers were gone, all of those beautiful, kind souls. _At least they will, perhaps, soon keep our parents company,_ she thought. _Please, Lord Námo_ , she added, _let them out of your halls early and allow them to walk in Aman again. Let Ingoldo meet with Amarië, and let her forgive him. Let them all be happy and together there, at least. Let uncle Ñolofinwë return as well, reward him for how he always did what he believed best for his people. Be kind to them_.

Tears welled in her eyes again as she thought of all of those who were now lost. Only Findekáno, Celeborn and Lady Melian, were left to her now, for she feared Lúthien would not be long for this world either. Not if she planned to continue Beren's quest, not even with her newfound power.

The messengers arrived some days later, bringing the news that Sauron's fortress had fallen, and that gave her a brief hope as she felt the joy of that victory, but it flickered and died soon after that. Her friend's power was great and she wished she could have seen Sauron tremble before her, but she knew it was still not enough. Galadriel was happy for Lúthien's triumph, and that her friend did not perish in the same place her brother had, but it was not enough to defeat Moricotto and gain a Silmaril, and it was not enough to chase away her sorrow.

Nevertheless, as she though about it, she found a desire in her heart to see her brother's grave at least once, and Tol Sirion beautiful again. So she hurried to cross the mountains before winter started, with Celeborn once more at her side, and Findekáno as well – those two have been indispensable to her in the days of her latest grief, the ones who held her aloft. They came to Tol Sirion and saw the ruins of what used to be Minas Tirith, and found the grave. For weeks she wept there, until Findekáno came and put a hand on her shoulder. "It is time," he said softly, and she rose bid goodbye to her grief, to replace it with anger and cold resolve. She cursed Sauron there and then. "You will never achieve what most you desire," she said, calling to the sky in a strong voice that resonated in the mountains, "and your fall will always come just as your power seems greatest and your triumph most inevitable."

A menacing silence was her only response.

Then they bid farewell to Findekáno soon after and turned south, for they heard that the sons of Fëanáro have been cast out from Narogrotto, and Galadriel wanted to see what remained of her kin once again, and to make sure that Curufinwë had been forced to leave Midhel behind in his exile.

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AN: When I wrote the scene with Galadriel and Thingol's riders, I remembered a line from one humorous Czech song written by a member of our Tolkien fandom. It's about Aredhel's return to Gondolin, and when she explains how she escaped, she says something that's kinda hard to translate, but with a lot of poetic license, it could be something like: "What kind of daughter of Noldor would I be/if I could be hindered by every wannabe."


	25. Grace

**Chapter 25: Grace**

 _Year 465 of the Sun, Doriath_

Artaresto welcomed them to Narogrotto in Ingoldo's place. Where Galadriel's eldest brother had stood in easy confidence of his kingdom, welcoming her always with a sincere smile, his nephew was now, as if huddled into himself, his face and his entire posture grief-stricken. The whole of Narogrotto seemed to be permeated by a strange kind of nervousness and a sort of fear, a striking contrast to the normally joyful halls of this beautiful realm. Losing its king made its mark on it, Galadriel saw, and there was guilt in the air as they waited as if for a judgement from the sister whose brother they sent to his death.

No one escaped that guilt, she saw. Ever Artanáro was unwilling to meet her eyes, and Tyelperinquar looked smaller than ever before. Guilin was nowhere to be seen – and a good thing, too, for there her control might have failed her – but Gwindor stood by Artaresto's side, seeming to have aged by a millennium.

Galadriel took a deep breath and resolutely pushed her own grief and pain aside, going to greet the new king. There were too many new kings lately, she thought. The look Artaresto gave her scared her, too. He had never recovered from Ohtarwen's loss, and his parents and Aikanáro's death had reopened and deepened the wound, and now that his last uncle had departed this world in such tragic circumstances, he, himself, was clearly only holding on by a thread once again. But his pain was not the only thing she saw as she spoke to him. His resentment towards her was still there as well, to be felt in the slight defiance of his broken glance, in the bitten undercurrent of his quiet voice. She could not see his mind, but he was not well enough to hide his thoughts from her even when it was closed. She longed to help him from his pain, but knew she was powerless in such circumstances, that she would, instead, only deepen it. Artaresto needed someone else – who, she did not know.

Findoiolosse, she knew, was the one light that shone in her nephew's darkness, but she had been hit heavily by the recent tragedies as well, and was not strong enough to pull him out of his despair. And there, too, Galadriel felt resentment, resentment inherited from Artaresto, and in this case made demonstrable by eyes that avoided her and by a tightness to her lips whenever the young elf looked at her. Findoiolosse and her father both needed help, and were too weakened by the tragedies to offer it to each other, or to offer it properly. Galadriel sighed. Ingoldo, she knew, had been able to give it. But Ingoldo was gone now.

She pushed the pain away once more and went to speak to Artanáro. He, at least, had not been broken by the most recent loss, as he had not been by the ones before. Even as he missed his great-uncle bitterly and grieved for his death, it only gave him more certainty that the enemy needed to be fought relentlessly. He had been, she learned, instrumental in casting Curufinwë and Tyelkormo out of the city. "I feel like I should have been able to prevent their rise to influence in the first place," he said, shamefaced, when he told her about it the day after she and Celeborn arrived. "Or at least freed your friend before she found her own means of escape."

"My friend?"

"Princess Lúthien."

"Lúthien was here?" Galadriel asked, shocked.

And Artanáro, thought hindered by guilt, told her the incredible story of the half-Maiarin princess of Doriath being captured by Turkafinwë for the same purpose Irissë and Midhel had been captured by their husbands, and the story of her escape with the help of Turkafinwë's faithful dog.

"What was he thinking?" She asked, outraged. "How did they even capture her?" The same question as with Irissë emerged here, but this time it was perfectly certain it could not have been by simple overpowering. They must have tricked her – something, she had to admit, that would have been entirely too easy. _Why had I not told Lúthien more about my disgraceful family_ , she asked herself in frustration. There never seemed good enough reason to do it, and so shame had held her back. How foolish. One never knew these things for certain. Warnings could always be useful later.

"I am sorry," Artanáro said. "I should have done more."

"Beloved," Galadiel replied, smiling at him, trying to ignore the new pain at what Lúthien had to suffer at the hand of her cousins. "You are only a little over two hundred and fifty years old, and were a newcomer to this city. They have more than a millennium on you, there are two of them, they came first, and they had two thousand of their own people here. I think you are being just a little too hard on yourself."

She spent a long time with him, listening to what he had to tell her about the events in Narogrotto with great attention. As Ingoldo had hinted, Guilin had indeed taken the side of the two accursed sons of Fëanáro, and under his leadership, many others followed. "Curufinwë used Gelmir's capture most cruelly to make Guilin loyal to him," Artanáro explained, attempting to make excuses for the elf who used to be Ingoldo's Chief Councillor. "He blamed Uncle Ingoldo for it. He made it seem almost intentional, and promised his protection to Gwindor, guaranteeing that Guilin would not have to witness another of his sons dying. At least this is what Guilin admitted to us after he heard of Ingoldo's death and came to tell us all in remorse."

Galadriel inclined her head. "Guilin is to be pitied," she admitted, "but still, you know a truly loyal elf would never turn against their king. He is not to be judged...but he is also not to be trusted, not entirely."

Artanáro seemed to hesitate.

"What is it?" Galadriel asked.

"Father made him the new Chief of Diplomacy, after Inglor," he replied. At her shocked look, he added: "He repents, and my father appointed him to appease his many friends at court. I thought it was a good decision. We needed to show the realm was healed after we cast the sons of Fëanáro out."

Yes, it might have been a politically good decision, but it still seemed like an affront to Galadriel that one who betrayed her brother would be treated hat way. "He did not even had the courage to show himself when I arrived," she said bitterly. "I thought it was because he was in disfavour, but clearly..."

Artanáro gave her a sad smile. "I barely had the courage myself," he replied. "We have all failed your brother, and we all feel guilt, and are ashamed in front of you."

Galadriel gave a sigh, and embraced him. "Never be ashamed in front of me," she said. "I find it hard to imagine something I could not forgive you."

In spite of her personal preference, however, there were other kinsmen that required her attention and so after she heard all the important news from Artanáro, she set out to see them. Tyelperinquar had renounced his father, she had learned from her nephew, and stayed in Narogrotto with his mother, and so Galadriel went in search of Midhel. She had spoken with the lady frequently in the last ten years, and she had watched her freedom of mind and spirit slowly and timidly return in the somewhat safe haven of Narogrotto. She hoped that now her abuser was gone for good, the recovery would become faster.

The lady welcomed her with a weak smile, already looking better for the absence of her husband. "I am very happy to find you here," Galadriel said. "Did you choose to stay?"

"I...yes. My...my son came to me after your brother departed to his death, hurt and confused by what his father had done. He didn't know what to do. In the end, I...told him. The truth about our marriage. I...I don't know if it was the right thing to do, or..."

In her mind, Galadriel gave a relieved sigh. She had been softly urging Midhel to do just that for years, and preparing Tyelperinquar to hear it for the same amount of time. She hoped her assistance had helped somewhat. "I'm sure it was," she said aloud. "He's an adult now, or almost one, he should know the truth. How is he?"

"I...I hope well. I don't know. He...he always says he's well, but I don't know if it isn't only to avoid making my burden heavier," Midhel admitted, looking away.

Galadriel sat down next to her. "And how are _you_?"

"Better...I believe," Midhel replied, playing with her bracelet. It was beautiful. Tyelperinquar must have made it for her, Galadriel surmised. "I'm...getting used to my freedom. It's not always easy. I still rarely leave these rooms."

Galadriel pressed her hand. "Should you need anything – anything at all, anything in the world – just tell me, please. I'll do anything I can to help you heal from the hurts my kin has dealt you."

"It was hardly your fault, my lady."

"Neither was it yours, and yet you still suffer from it."

"But it was. I shouldn't have walked beyond the border..."

Galadriel gave her a hard look. "Never say that. Never think that. The one to blame is Curufinwë, and then my other cousins who had the opportunity to help you and didn't. You're _not_ to blame."

She sat with Midhel for quite a long time after that before she sought out her son in the forge. "Tyelperinquar," she said, quietly, but with emphasis. "I wished to thank you."

He left the necklace he had been working on and rose to greet her. "My lady," he said. "There is no need. What I did was only just, and my only regret is that I did not do it earlier."

"He is your father. It was never going to be easy. I am very grateful. How are you? After hearing the truth, I mean."

"It is difficult," he admitted, "but I will be fine in time."

"Do you wish to talk about it?"

"No," he said, very decisively, with a tone of embarrassment.

Galadriel sighed. He had a tendency to do that, to pretend he was all strong and grown up in front of her. "Is there something else I can do?" She asked.

He seemed to hesitate. "Do what you can for my mother," he said then.

Galadriel gladly agreed to that – after all, it was something she had been attempting to do for years now. Celeborn, too, had naturally much interest in helping his brother's sister-in-law, and made it the primary task of his stay in Narogrotto. Thanks to his patient influence, Midhel was soon willing to leave her chambers in his company. Galadriel could see that she found it easier to be open with him, her kin, than with her, and so redirected her primary efforts to Tyelperinquar, making sure he was coping with his difficult situation as well as possible. She wished some of her family who were true masters of craft could be here to help him in his interests, but as it was, she at least introduced him to the dwarven craftsmen she knew when they were passing through the city.

She was pleased that both Midhel and him seemed to be doing as well as could be expected after the blows fate dealt them, and there was another source of joy, too, to be found in regards to her family. Findoiolosse and Gwindor were in love, it seemed, with the true flame of Eru. Not many other things could have given her so much joy, for both lovers needed consolation sorely. Findoiolosse had father with a sick soul, a father who, had he not had the Finwion strength, would have faded already, and who needed all of her support, but she barely had enough to give. Gwindor, while he had his own pain in his brother's capture and in witnessing his own father turn against the king he loved, was not broken and could lend her the strength she needed, while being consoled by her. Together, they could hopefully find some happiness.

Artanáro, meanwhile, took as active a role in the ruling of Narogrotto as he had before of Tol Sirion, and became his father's Chief Councillor. Given her objections to Guilin's appointment, Galadriel had no wish to have an official place on the council herself, even though Artanáro assured her that the elf was very subdued now, and that the main voice in the council were his, Gwindor's and Gildor's. Gwindor became the new commander of Nargorotto's armies after Edrahil, who died with Ingoldo, and Gildor was Inglor's son, a son who took on the position of captain of Narogrotto's guards after another who had died in Tol-in-Gaurhoth. Those members of the council Galadriel had full faith in, but she had no desire to be obliged to argue with the rest. And Guilin had never apologized to her, something most other high standing courtiers did soon after her arrival, even those who bore almost no blame. Gwindor tried to do so in his father's place, but while the Nolde appreciated the effort and liked Gwindor all the more for it, it did nothing to warm her feelings towards Guilin. And she had one additional reason for wishing to avoid the council: every time she was present there, even as the informal – but all the more influential – advisor to Artanáro and Artaresto she was, she was reminded of the times she used to sit there next to Ingoldo, him with his crown and her with the dwarven necklace, as joint rulers running their city. It had been an illusion, a farce, but she missed it now nonetheless, for she missed her brother. So she only went rarely to the council, but in privacy with Artanáro, they spent most of their time thinking of ways to do Moricotto harm, and to gain Artaresto's approval for them. The new king of Narogrotto was more fearful and did not wish to take risks that could be avoided, but he was also more easily convinced unless a matter of particular import to him was at stake, and rarely could withstand the united wills of his son and Galadriel.

So as months went by, Galadriel and Celeborn both settled into a rhythm, doing the tasks they appointed for themselves and their mind only sometimes straying to Lúthien. Galadriel had not felt her friend perish, and believed it meant she and Beren had abandoned the quest for the Silmarils. She was glad of it. When she thought of them now, she imagined them living quietly and peacefully somewhere, removed from all the terror Singollo doomed them to.

They were reminded of Lúthien's fate by the outside world only once during this time, when spies from Singollo were intercepted, and brought to the king's hall, fearful, Amdír among them. In recognizing Galadriel and Celeborn, their fear turned to surprise. "Lord Celeborn," they said, bowing. "Lady Galadriel."

Galadriel smiled at them. "Don't fear," she said, "and tell your king he could have send messengers instead of spies. What is it you seek?"

"My lady, we've received word from this realm that you keep Princess Lúthien here. The king demands she be returned," Amdír said in a voice that shook a little. Perhaps he thought that her presence here, where Lúthien was said to be held captive, was the final proof that she had always wished to betray the Sindar for the Noldor. She knew, at least, that some of those close to Saeros still believed that, and she was aware that the sympathies of many of Midhel's kin laid with Saeros' group ever since her kidnapping. It may be that Amdír was among them.

Galadriel frowned. "What you speak of were deeds of two sons of Feanor, who betrayed the rightful king of Nargothrond and were cast out from here as a punishment. But Lúthien, your princess and my friend, escaped even before this took place. I haven't seen her since she left Doriath's borders, but I know that she destroyed Tol-in-Gaurhoth by her power not two months ago. You can tell your king that we don't keep her from him."

What she did not say, of course, was that if Lúthien came here, they most certainly would keep her from the Sindarin king, or rather, would not hand her over if he asked. She imagined Singollo could gather as much, in any case. Perhaps Amdír as well.

This, however, was a precious opportunity, so while the other spies were offered refreshments and generally treated like messengers, Celeborn and Galadriel took Amdír to see Midhel.

They found her in the forge with Tyelperinquar, one of the few places she went on her own except her rooms. She did not care for craftsmanship, but loved watching her son work. "It calms me," she had told Galadriel once, "to see him this happy. It means that his life hasn't been completely ruined." Now, Amdír watched in silence for a moment before he said, softly, carefully: "Aunt Midhel?"

She turned to him, and such brightness, such joy appeared on her face and she rose and ran to him to embrace him. Introductions to Tyelperinquar were made, and the happy family reunion seemed to dissipate any doubts Amdír might have had. The cheerful atmosphere was only broken when Amdír asked his aunt to go back to Doriath with him.

She turned away, her smile immediately disappearing. "I...can't," she said then, slowly. "Not yet, not...I can't."

"Why not?" Amdír asked. "It's your home!"

"Don't force my mother," Tyelperinquar immediately came to her defence, and Galadriel could see Amdír taking his measure, tracing his Noldorin features with his eyes as scorn appeared in them. "We'll take Midhel to Doriath as soon as she feels she can go," she interceded quickly, not wishing for the situation to deteriorate. Nevertheless, she knew that when Amdír left with his companions, some of his suspicions were reawakened.

Life in Narogrotto returned to its previous rhythm after this, except for Midhel. Amdír's invitation was constantly on her mind, as was his disappointment that she would not go with him. She was leaving her rooms more often now, and sometimes even the city – though always in strong company – in a clear effort to prepare herself for a future journey to Doriath.

It was at the point when she could stay outside only with Galadriel without getting too fearful and anxious that the news reached them of the madness of the terrible wolf Carcharoth and his escape from Angamando.

Galadriel's world grew dark once more as she knew, by her foresight, that Lúthien and Beren had attempted to claim the Silmaril after all.

She had not sensed her friend die, and there was only one other possible end to this attempt, too dreadful to contemplate. That Moricotto had caught Lúthien alive, and she was now being tortured in his dark cells.

Just the thought of this sent Galadriel to the brink of a pit of despair. _No_ , she thought, raging against such fate, _no, no, no…_ The memory of all the others she had lost recently, of all her dear ones being taken one by one, made want to scream this aloud in pain and anger. As with Ingoldo when he had been a prisoner in Tol-in-Gaurhoth, she could do nothing to help her friend now, not if she was tortured in the depths of Angamando...could she?

She though of Findekáno, going to rescue Maitimo from that very place. Should she do the same, then? Should she head there, against all hope, and try to save Lúthien? Should she choose to perish in the attempt, rather than know about her capture and do nothing?

Galadriel tried to pray, but no answer was forthcoming. She tried to touch Lúthien's mind, even though she was fearful of what she would find, but it seemed hidden, perhaps by Moriccotto's dark spells. She did not know what to do.

Celeborn, on the other hand, did. Under these circumstances, he wished to return to Doriath and stand by his family in this difficult time, and so Galadriel bid goodbye to Narogrotto for a time and went to accompany him at least to the borders. She did not wish to enter Thousand Caves again, but perhaps should could enter the forest at least and see if she could be of any use to the heartbroken Queen Melian, and seek advice on her course of action.

After some deliberation, Midhel decided to go with them as well, pushing aside her own pain and fear for this fresh one that seemed to have fallen upon their kingdom. Like Celeborn, she did not think she could leave her kin alone at such time.

It was a mournful procession from Narogrotto that reached the borders of Doriath, their only hope being of use to the mourning royal family. So their surprise was great indeed when, only a short way from the border, they came across Lúthien and Beren themselves, returning home.

Rarely before had Galadriel felt such joy as at this reunion, this completely unexpected blessing. She embraced her friend and held tight, grateful to Eru beyond anything that at least this one of her dear ones was spared, that Queen Melian would not have to face the choice between staying with her husband and following her daughter across the Sea, that Middle-Earth would not lose such a bright flower, such a unique force, such a wonderful elf.

"I sensed you," Lúthien said softly. "In the forest, and I sensed your grief, and I knew I had to find you."

"And why didn't I sense you?" Galadriel asked, still dazed by the delight of this meeting.

"I've been...concealing us," Lúthien replied. "We wished for privacy."

Galadriel though of Macalaurë and his skill. It was not, perhaps, surprising, that Lúthien could do the same, and better. What was more surprising was that she was here in the first place. "How?" Galadriel asked in a weak voice.

And so long days were then spent there in the forest in re-acquaintance of friends, and Lúthien told her tale of being kidnapped by Turkafinwë and rescued by Huan, of defeating Sauron with song and Huan's help, of encountering the sons of Fëanáro as they were fleeing into exile, of dancing in front of the Enemy and of stealing the Silmaril, of the jewel being devoured by Carcharoth as he bit off Beren's hand, and of their rescue by the eagles. It was a tale of wonder and power, and Galadriel suddenly saw her friend in a different light. She had always known Lúthien had power, but under the guise of joy and otherworldly longings, she had perhaps never realized quite how much, not even after Lúthien's escape from the prison her father had made for her.

Then Beren spoke, and he told of Ingoldo's heroism and strength with pride and of his death with pain in his voice, and offered a sincere apology to Galadriel for involving her brother in his doom. There was much more wisdom now in this man than there had been when Galadriel first laid eyes on him in Singollo's Hall, and she accepted his apology and was glad to hear of her brother's last moments. At least Ingoldo had been able to save a friend by his final stand. That must have eased his parting with Middle-Earth.

When they had their share of friendly discourse, Lúthien remembered her mourning parents again, and they travelled on together, Galadriel abandoning her original intent of returning to Narogrotto. She wished to stay with Lúthien after this unexpected reunion.

Many elves joined them on the way, joyful, too, that their princess had returned, and even many of the ents of Region with their tress, so it was that there was a great host of them when they arrived to Thousand Caves. Galadriel was glad of it, for she thought that if Singollo intended to do Beren any harm, it would be more difficult in this state of things.

But seeing the king with her own eyes, she understood he would not attempt to hurt Beren now. There were deep lines of sorrow in his face, and while there was no love in it when he looked at the Man, there was no hatred either, only resignation.

Beren knelt before the king and said: "I return according to my word. I come now to claim my own."

"What of your quest, and of your vow?" The king asked, though he sounded more tired than demanding.

"It's fulfilled," Beren answered, and startled, Galadriel realized he was right, because... "Even now a Silmaril is in my hand."

Singollo stared. "Show it to me!" He commanded.

And Beren raised his right arm, and the hand that was not there.

Galadriel could see the pain in Singollo's eyes, pain and guilt, and he heaved a great sigh and said: "Sit before me, then, and tell me the story of your quest, so that I may judge whether you have fulfilled your oath."

And Beren and Lúthien sat and told their tale, and Galadriel listened again, still amazed by their great deeds.

With their story finished, Singollo seemed to wake from a dream that Lúthien cast on him with her telling. "Much you've suffered," he said then, and it still sounded as if from a distance, "and I'd be in breach of my word, or near enough, if I still tried to prevent your marriage. So, therefore, Beren, son of Barahir, I give you my blessing."

With these words, it was as if a great weight was lifted from everyone in the room, and Queen Melian smiled once more. Lúthien went and embraced her father for the first time since she left, and then she turned to the gathered elves of Doriath and said: "We shall be wed tomorrow at twilight, in the forest, under the stars. All of you that wish to celebrate our joy with us, come, you are invited."

And as she said, it was done. Almost the entire forest realm was gathered at her wedding. It was full of bliss and delight, as if to make up for all that suffering Beren and Lúthien had to go through together to get here. Lúhien's joy, in particular, had never been brighter, and even though she seemed to barely even know of anyone else's presence but Beren's, it still appeared to affect others as well, to spread like the most popular song. Galadriel saw its influence all around her, she saw Beleg and Mablung laughing together in a corner, she saw Celeborn's parents quietly holding hands, there was Amdír dancing with his betrothed, and most importantly, she saw Doroneth and Midhel, embracing and crying tears of happiness. They hardly let go of each other ever since Midhel returned, and their joy was matched only by that of the King and Queen at the return of their daughter.

"Why isn't Daeron here?" Galadriel asked Lady Ernil as she watched Beren and Lúthien dance to the tunes of other minstrels.

"He left after Lúthien did," Lady Ernil replied in a dark tone of voice. "Guilt drove him to search for her, I believe. It was him who betrayed her to Thingol - twice. He never returned."

Galadriel sighed, looking into the distance. "May be find his peace one day," she said softly, but then shook her head. She, too, wished to be joyful on this day, and so she took Celeborn's hand and went to dance.

Even in later years, the memory of Lúthien's wedding would be one of the brightest she had, in spite of all the tragedies that preceded it, because of the deep-seated happiness that the Sindarin princess felt and that made its way to every guest's heart, an echo of the bliss of Aman. But in Arda Marred, such bliss could not last, and not long after the wedding, the news reached Thousand Caves that Carcharoth was ravaging the forest of Doriath now, destroying the land that had until now been protected from every evil. And, a mere week after Lúthien and Beren had been joined together, the hunt set out, with the new husband at its head.

Lúthien shivered as it departed, and Galadriel knew that Beren would not return from that quest alive, and saw in the face of Queen Melian that she knew, too; yet neither said anything and they stood with Lúthien in silence for hours, there on the bridge that led from Thousand Caves to the forest, waiting for their return, each quietly, but with no less pain, mourning the tragic ending of so short a marriage. What did Lúthien do, Galadriel asked Lord Námo silently, to deserve such a fate? Even the most vile of the Noldor had been spared this kind of torment, to be denied the one they loved and then, when they finally had the happiness of being together, to have their life snatched away immediately. Singollo, who was the cause of all this suffering, had been blessed with long centuries with his wife. Why should Lúthien, one so innocent, suffer in this manner?

The hunting party returned after the night fell, Beren's body carried on the bier. Seeing it, Lúthien gave a short, sharp shout that pierced the soul, and then she ran to him and embraced him. "Await me beyond the Western Sea," she said, as if she forgot that her love was of mortal Men, and it was then that he died - and Lúthien collapsed next to him, her body spiritless.

In that hour Singollo let out a terrible cry and suddenly he looked like one of Men on the steps of death of old age, and even in her grief Galadriel saw that that was another sign of Eru's will, in which he was punishing Singollo's contempt of the Second born. And they put the bodies of Beren and Lúthien together, and the king and queen wept over them, and behind them, all the people of Doriath.

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It was hours later, and Singollo, unable to bear the sight of his daughter's body any longer, returned to his chambers with Queen Melian to mourn in privacy. But many others have stayed watching over the dead under the stars, Galadriel and Celeborn among them.

Galadriel had Lúthien's hand in hers, and she cried out as that which she was holding moved.

She raised her eyes, and to her astonishment saw not only Lúthien – for that could be believed, though it had not happened before to her knowledge – but also Beren come back to life, and it was something dreadful and wonderful. The people of Doriath behind them were shouting in amazement and fear, and Galadriel herself was a little unsure as she said: "How…?"

"Valar were merciful to us," Lúthien replied simply, and there was new depth to her words that spoke of one who saw the Halls of Mandos. Galadriel remembered them, and their lord, and thought that it must have been something wonderful indeed that made their unshakeable ruler release Lúthien so soon after she came, and back to Middle-Earth too. And what had happened to Beren required a stronger intervention still.

The dead that lived headed to Thousand Caves and she walked after them, still marvelling at this wonder. Lúthien went to her father, and by a touch of her hand healed his ruin and brought him joy again; but when she turned to her mother, look of such despair entered Queen Melian's face that Galadriel had never seen before, and she turned away from Lúthien. And it that moment Galadriel realized that what she had ignored before, for it had seemed impossible to her – Lúthien was mortal now. Not even Lady Melian had foreseen this, for it was grace of Eru given especially to the two who have been so brave and whose story was so tragic, a chance to live together. The Queen, however, was of the Maiar, the immortal spirits, and faced with true death, she could not bear it, and she left the room and the city, the echoes of her sorrow reverberating through its halls log after she was gone far away in the forest.

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Lúthien and Beren did not remain long in Doriath. The people feared them now, the Queen could not bear to look at her daughter, and Lúthien found it hard to forgive her father the terrible things he had done to her. It took only very few weeks until she realized that she could not recreate the easy bliss of her previous life any more, and that there was no place for her here.

"I wish to go far away from everything," she told Galadriel. "I've seen enough bloodshed and evil to last me the rest of my days, and I don't wish to be involved."

"You never wished to be involved, beloved," Galadriel replied softly, with a smile.

"You're right," Lúthien admitted, "but I used to feel a part of Doriath a least a little. Now this land holds nothing for me, and I can go dwell with my love, to be happy until the end of our days, as I know we can be. But for the help you offered me in my endeavours, and for that which your brother offered Beren, we will gladly see you and yours in our home at any time, even though we are leaving to find solitude."

"What help?" Galadriel asked. "The little I was willing to offer, you refused or I was prevented from giving."

"Yet even that," Lúthien replied, "was more than any other from Doriath have given me, for all that I was their princess and they claimed to love me with all their hearts. It wasn't our fate to have help, other than from Huan, but you have tried to offer yours, and I will never forget it." Then they embraced, and Lúthien was never seen in Doriath again.


	26. Unnumbered Tears

**Chapter 26: Unnumbered Tears**

 _Year 467 of the Sun, Narogrotto_

Galadriel did not last long in Doriath after Lúthien left.

She had not paid much attention to it at first because of her grief over Lúthien's death, her shock over her return to life and her melancholy over the princess' departure, but after that took place, Galadriel's mind gradually turned to the Silmaril that must have surely been found in the dreadful wolf's body.

She discovered it was now in Singollo's possession. She was astonished to hear he did not give it to Beren and Lúthien to take with them – she knew it had been set as a bride-price, but that had never been meant seriously, and now that Singollo gained at least some wisdom, she would have expected him to give it to them, for they had at least some claim on it.

They took it from the Enemy and paid with their own blood for it, and the oath notwithstanding, she thought even the sons of Fëanáro could be convinced to leave it in their hands till the ends of their now mortal lives.

Singollo, on the other hand, was a different matter entirely. Singollo had no claim on it, and if Lúthien and Beren did not want it, then it belonged rightfully to Maitimo. And such a demand was made, too, as soon as Galadriel's cousin learned that the Silmaril dwelt in Doriath now, and was refused with scornful words by Singollo.

It was in that hour that Galadriel knew she could not stay any longer. She had not meant to be in Doriath long when she last left Narogrotto, and she could not continue in the land of a king who did such terrible thing to his own daughter and who stole what was the heritage of her own people, made by her uncle's hands and wit, not when Lúthien, the only one that had made her stay when last she had wanted to leave, was gone already. She would miss Lady Ernil and Doroneth and wished she had more time with them, and she deeply regretted leaving Queen Melian; but she knew the Queen would hardly feel the time of her absence until they meet again on the other shore, however long it was. Time did not mean the same thing for the Maiar, and she could not remain even for her, not even for Celeborn's kin.

She would have stayed for him, had he insisted, but she spoke to him and he agreed to leave with her. "You've lived in my home for hundreds of years," he said, "and you've justly been disappointed in it. It's now time I lived in yours." And they departed the halls of Thousand Caves and returned to Narogrotto to help with its rule once again.

Midhel went with them, missing her son, but to Galadriel's joy, she took Doroneth and Nimloth with her. Doroneth was unwilling to part from her sister so soon, and Nimloth was a quiet but curious girl who longed to see the famous art of Narogrotto. "It was made by dwarves as well, wasn't it?" She asked on the way. "Is it much like Thousand Caves?"

"You'll see," Galadriel replied, not wishing to take away the first glories view of Narogrotto's carved halls by any description. Nimloth was, indeed, quite satisfied, and her mouth was even a little open as she stood in the entry hall, being welcomed by Artaresto.

It was shortly after their arrival that Maitimo's message of a proposed Union arrived. Inspired by Lúthien's success, and driven by the Oath, Galadriel supposed, he suggested a Union of all free peoples of Middle-Earth against the Enemy, a Union with the purpose of attacking Angamando.

Galadriel did not remember ever being so much of two minds about something before.

She did not believe it could end in glory. Yet again, the words of Lord Námo spoken so long ago sounded in her mind like heard afresh: 'To evil end shall all things turn that they begin well.' He spoke of the sons of Fëanáro.

And even that aside...had such an idea come three hundred years ago, she would have been overjoyed. A hundred years ago, she would have been vexed that it had not been sooner, but would have, nevertheless, accepted that it might succeed. But now...they had suffered heavy losses in the Battle of the Sudden Flame, and later, in Findekáno's defence of Hithlum. Yes, the Enemy suffered losses too, but his monsters bred more quickly than elves ever could. His numbers would be replenished soon. Theirs would likely never be, not in times of war, not when there were now so many more nissi than neri.

Maitimo proposed to make up that lack of numbers with dwarves and more Second born than have joined them before, and this was where she doubted too. She did not know those houses of Men that swore allegiance to the sons of Fëanáro, and was unsure of their strength. On principle, she did not believe in anyone whose loyalty was to Curufinwë and Turkafinwë.

Which was yet another problem, practical this time. The people of Narogrotto, feeling guilt for their treason of Ingoldo, blamed it on the brothers and hated them bitterly, and many would be unwilling to march to war on their brother's order. Including Narogrotto's king.

Artaresto could be strong-headed when he wanted, but still, perhaps she could persuade him to change his his mind if she and Artanáro were clearly decided - but her great-nephew was troubled by the same doubts she was.

And yet, despite of all this...she could not imagine, if such a battle took place, that they would not take part. It would be equal to what Turukáno and Singollo did – in fact, Singollo had already let them know that he would not send any of his armies, and fortified his borders instead, to keep the Silmaril hidden – and what she despised about them. But if the whole union was in vain, was this a good enough reason to send Narogrotto's people to war, and to death? That not fighting would be cowardly?

Plagued by such doubts, she left Narogrotto in Artanáro's hands and undertook the dangerous journey north, and the unpleasant need to stay in the same house as Curufinwë and Turkafinwë once again, to speak with Maitimo in person.

She had forgotten, however, that her cousin's mind had now been gnawed on by the Oath for long years, and that she had been worried by his lack of wisdom already the last time she spoke to him. "If Narogrotto is too cowardly to march to war," he said in anger after she explained her misgivings and sought reassurance, "then we can do without it. Sons of Fëanáro need to beg for no help. By rights, you should simply follow my orders."

Galadriel turned and left the room without a word, acutely afraid for her cousin now. The madness of pride that had been his father's downfall and that was so evident in some of his brothers seemed to have finally caught up with him, too. Perhaps he felt humiliated by the success of Lúthien's quest; after all, he was the leader of the sons of Fëanáro, and their quest in Middle-Earth was regaining the Silmarils, and yet they had had no success in almost five hundred years, and then a daughter of a Sindarin king simply came and took one.

Yes, Galadriel expected he felt humiliated and the Oath burned all the brighter for it, but while that might make her feel pity for him, it could not ease her worry.

Macalaurë followed her out of the room and stopped her in the corridor. "Forgive my brother," he said, confirming her thoughts, "the present time is difficult for him."

"I might forgive him," she replied, "but my doubts about the union will remain deepened."

Macalaurë could offer no answer to that, for she saw he doubted himself. She would wish to discuss details with Maitimo, but it was clearly impossible, and having to tolerate Turkafinwë's insolent remarks and Curufinwë's hateful words about Midhel in the feast hall in the evening, she swiftly decided to leave again in the morning, and to travel to Hithlum.

Findekáno was resolute in his determination to join Maitimo in his effort. "He is my friend," he said. "I saved him from the Enemy's captivity, I cannot leave him alone in this. Have faith, it will all tun out well."

"Do you believe my fears are baseless, then?

"No," he admitted, "your arguments are sound. Bit it is not an effort doomed to fail, and as such, we have to try, do we not? We have to have hope."

She sighed. "Hope has to based in reason," she said. "You know I have hope that the Lords of the West will deliver us, but about this battle...not being completely certain it will end in disaster is not the same as trusting there is a good chance of success."

He sighed, and gave her a small smile. "You remain stubbornly pessimistic, as ever. In that case...do not decide."

Galadriel frowned. "I am not that much of a coward."

"Not, but you are not the king of Narogrotto either. Your brother denied you the crown, and did you a disservice in it, but it also means you are free of this responsibility that lays upon my shoulders. You truly do not have to decide. You do not need to take upon you all the heavy weight of kingship without reaping any of the benefits. I will say to you what my father once had – they did not choose you as their queen, and so you are not responsible for them."

"But I am. Do you not see? A father does not stop caring for his children because they reject him. If I withheld my counsel and Narogrotto marched to war and was slaughtered, do you not think I would feel guilt? Or if it stayed hidden, and the battle was lost by that slight margin that meant that had we been there, it would have been won?"

"And would not the guilt be so much worse," he returned, "if you knew these things were not a result of you staying silent, but of your direct council?"

"Yes. But that, at least, would not be cowardly. I never shrunk from responsibility, you know that, beloved."

He smirked at her, even though his smirks were always weighted down by grief and worry nowadays. "Indeed you take the other extreme," he said, "you go out of your way to seek responsibility, when you feel you do not have enough!"

That was one of the best descriptions of her that she ever heard.

Returning to Narogrotto, she mused over Findekáno's advice. She knew she could not take it as it was, but it gave her the germ of an idea. She talked with Artanáro at length after her return, and then they sought out Artaresto.

"Your son and I agree," she said, "that we cannot ask the people of Narogrotto to march to war on the order of such that have wronged them greatly, be they Sindar or from the house of Arafinwë. Not when their own city is still safe. The High King does not command it, after all. But we also believe that to refuse to take part at all would mean not honouring our responsibility for the fates of Middle-Earth. So this is our advice, king: tell your people that any one who wishes to go to join the fight is welcome to do so, and can join Findekáno's ranks, but that you will not give that order."

"And will my son lead the charge?" Artaresto asked bitterly.

"I would be honoured to do so, father," Artanáro replied.

"But I would much rather you did not. I will agree to the cunning plan you and my aunt have devised, on one condition: that you will stay here by my side. Nerwen can do what she wants, as she always does."

"Father..." Artanáro hesitated. "You yourself will not go. If I stay behind as well, hardly anyone from our city will decide to fight. They will lack a leader."

"Make up your mind. I can forbid the people of Narogrotto to march just as well, it is all the same to me."

And so Artanáro, with a heavy heart, agreed.

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When the time for battle finally came, Gwindor was the only one of the city's lords who decided to uphold the honour of his people. He took as many volunteers with him as would go. Most, however, stayed.

Narogrotto had been divided ever since Ingoldo's death, and it showed. There were some, Gwindor among them, who now saw Galadriel as the true successor of Ingoldo, some who remembered the time she wore the dwarven necklace and the message her brother had meant to convey with it. Many of them were the Noldor who still remembered Aman and the journey across the Ice, remembered her in the North. Tyelperinquar was loyal to her, too, and that meant those who remained in the kingdom of Curufinwë's and Turkafinwë's people were inclined to follow her lead. Then there were others, like Gildor, who wished to follow the king that Ingoldo himself had named, but seeing his weakness and Artanáro's strength, turned their trust to the son instead. And some, of course – perhaps half of the kingdom, perhaps more, Guilin among them – clung to their loyalty to Artaresto, trying to trace the face of their old king in his nephew's not dissimilar features. They saw that Artanáro still deferred to his father, and that stopped them from abandoning the king. These were the ones who disliked Galadriel the most. She often made Artaresto's faults obvious with her sharp words in the council, and they despised her for tearing down the dream they wished to dream.

So now, when it was clear that Artaresto did not wish for his people to go and Artanáro would stay behind, and when the king had allowed his people to only join Findekáno's forces, thus making those originally of Fëanáro's host unwilling to go, and when not even Galadriel could offer an entirely ringing endorsement...only Gwindor went, and with him a thousand or so warriors, mostly those loyal to Galadriel or to him, personally, through long service.

Findoiolosse was grieved by this. The day they were to depart, she knelt on the ground before him in the entry hall. "Do not go, my love, do not go," she begged. "I cannot lose you as well, you cannot do it to me."

"I am a warrior," he replied, though it was in a soft voice, "and this is my duty."

"It is not! My father did not give this command!"

"My duty is not determined solely by your father," he said even more softly.

"By whom, then? My great-aunt, who would have us all march to our death at the accursed kinslayer's orders?"

"Findoiolosse," he said sharply.

"Answer me!"

"By my conscience," he said simply, and that was that.

It tore at Galadriel to watch this. They should have been married by now, she knew, and the wedding had been postponed because of the battle. It was one of those many couples where Eru lit his flame in two of very different characters, for all they had grief in common, and Gwindor could be stayed no more than Findoiolosse's mother could have been.

Artaresto stood on the steps leading to the hall next to Galadriel, watching the scene, and the Nolde knew it pained him that his own daughter should come to know the same pain he had, and that he now regretted agreeing to allow anyone who wished to join the fight. He did not, however, take back his word. He had to take solace in knowing that he at least managed to stay firm in his insistence that his son did not go, and that the son choose not to disobey him.

But Galadriel went. Not to take part in battle, but to stay in her house and prepare to receive the wounded, to help in any way she could without breaking her promise to Findekáno.

She liked travelling alongside Gwindor. He was always interesting company, but now he wished to alleviate his guilt for leaving Findoiolosse by talking of her, at least, and so he filled the days of their journey with his memories. Galadriel listened and found, in the stories, aspects of her great-niece that she had never known, happy and cheerful and strong. It made her all the more glad for this marriage that was to take place. Gwindor seemed to truly bring out the best in Findoiolosse.

She was happy to be in her house in Hithlum once again, too, and looking at the hosts of the Noldor prepared in Hitlum, her heart uplifted and she felt hope. And yet...she knew too well that the Enemy had more soldiers hidden in his fortress, so her unease did not completely leave her as she prepared everything that would be needed to treat the injured.

Celeborn was not with her, but his and Lady Ernil's influence at the court of Doriath brought them two helpers, each with a small group of their followers and friends: Beleg and Mablung came to join the battle. Findekáno honoured them as much as he was able, and when he was not, Galadriel hosted them in her house, thankful for this unexpected blessing, small though it might seem. Mablung, she found, was kin to Midhel's mother, so she was happy she could tell him as much about the Sinda's time in Narogrotto as she could remember, and that lately, they were happy memories. Beleg was always there during these talks as well, listening aptly and never leaving his friend's side, and Galadriel wondered at their closeness. She had scarcely seen such unwillingness to be away from each other even with married couples. But perhaps they were simply enjoying this opportunity to be together, when duty often separated them in Doriath? She knew neither well enough to tell.

"You and Beleg are very close, aren't you?" She asked Mablung one day when Beleg was gone to settle some matter with the group that came with him.

To her astonishment, Mablung looked away and, if she was not mistaken, even blushed a little. "Yes, my lady," he muttered.

She frowned. _Were_ they a couple, about to be married? She had always assumed there were no Select couples among the Sindar, for she had never heard of any or seen to any. Besides, surely they knew each other long enough to be wed a hundred times over? But whatever it was, Mablung had clearly no desire to talk about it, and she did not know him well enough to pry, and so she sighed, wondering, and turned the conversation back to Midhel.

The next day, the morning of battle finally came, and the trumpets of the Noldor were sounded, and their banners were raised, and then a cry came from the south, and it was not a cry of fear, but a cry of joy and wonder. And Nerwen sought the minds of those who thus called, and saw through Findekáno's eyes the host of Turukáno, and felt the king's joy as he called: "The day has come! Behold, people of the Eldar and Fathers of Men, the day has come!"

But even in that hour of happiness a dark foreboding came upon Galadriel, thought she did not know of what precisely, and so she did not join in the cries of the many around her that resonated through the valleys: "The night is passing!"

The plan for the battle stated they were not to attack before Maitimo did, and so the long wait for him started. Galadriel could feel the impatience of many almost like a physical force, and used all of her powers of mind to fight it and calm the soldiers to prevent a hasty attack.

But she was not all-powerful, and when Gelmir was brought forward by the Enemy's forces and killed before Gwindor's eyes, she could not control the commander's madness. She felt his grief and anger like a physical force that tore through the ranks of the Enemy, and seeing his attack through Findekáno's eyes, all her visions suddenly resolved themselves, and she stared into the distance in horror as her eyes swelled with tears.

"My lady?" Brannor, standing by her side, asked. "What is it?"

She turned her unseeing eyes to him and whispered: "Run." Then she raised her voice and cried: "Run! For the realm of Hithlum will fall soon, and if you stay here, you will all be slaughtered."

Some did not believe her; but those who knew her long knew also the truthfulness of her visions, and fear appeared in their faces. "And you, my lady?" Brannor asked.

Galadriel thought her heart would splinter into pieces then, for she thought of Findekáno and did not want to abandon him for anything. And yet she remembered, still, the promise she gave him such a long time ago, and so, hardly seeing through the tears that clouded her eyes, she nevertheless extended her mind to call for her horse and went to the passage that led south through the mountains. Looking over the terraces of her house and the green hills behind them for one last time, she mounted her horse, opened the passage, and left forever.

Findekáno, she knew, felt her mind, and she could sense his protests. _No_ , he seemed to say, _you have to have hope, you have to have faith, like me, the plan was not followed but we can still win, we are strong, look, my brother came with a strong army, I tell you, we can win, we are pushing through and will be at Angamando's door soon enough, do not give up_! But Galadriel knew what truthful, certain visions felt like, and she could not give Findekáno any hope back.

She could not close her mind to his either, however, and as she and those who chose to follow her proceeded through the passage, she watched the battle with his eyes. She saw the triumphant progress of the elven army and the hope it brought. She was not the only one, and some of those who had left Hithlum with her were beginning to mutter that she had led them wrong, that the battle would be won. She did not say anything to them. She did not have the strength. They were long out of the passage through the mountains, and were passing the forest of Brethil on their way to Narogrotto, when she felt the tide turn and saw the Enemy's host burst forward against the Noldor, and them falling back. All throught that night, they watched the desperate fight of her kin even as she travelled south. In the morning, she could feel a new hope in Findekáno, and saw Turukáno's host approaching. _Is this a special form of torture_ , she asked, not knowing whom. _Why must they be given hope again and again, only to be disappointed every time, and every time more bitterly than the last_?

They were only a few days' journey from Narogrotto when she saw the strength of the Enemy reach Findekáno, and still she did not turn away, feeling the horror Findekáno saw, the death and tragedy all around him as his forces began to crumble, and the field of fire when the lord of balrogs got to him. She saw him fight, strong and unyielding, and yet by her visions knew he would not prevail.

She could already glimpse the gate of Narogrotto in the distance when she saw Findekáno fall. His last thought towards her was: "Get to safety, beloved, and remember your word."

She felt like half of her own soul had been ripped out, and she would have fallen off her horse if the animal had not slowed down in that moment, sensing her distress. In spite of everything, in spite of Ñolofinwë and Ingoldo and her other brothers, she had never known such pain before, and what joy remained to her seemed to be gone in that moment that the third High King of the Noldor fell.

Three great kings, each more beloved by her than the one before, and all slain by the Enemy, Findekáno even without the satisfaction of inflicting a wound on Moricotto himself, being destroyed by his balrogs instead. Her heart bled and her mind screamed in agony.

Her voice shook badly as she told her horse: "Go as fast as you can towards Narogrotto, if you can go in such a way that I will not fall; for I cannot direct you now."

The horse heard her and ran, and she lay on its back with her hands around its neck, tears streaming over its mane, her mind lost in grief over her closest friend and companion, the one who had always been there for her, always, ever since that celebration in Finwë's palace in Tirion when she had been barely five Valian years of age and rose to his defence against Turkafinwë's teasing. It seemed several lifetimes ago, and the girl there seemed to be someone different, a stranger, but from that day on, he had always been there, unflinchingly loyal, and the best friend she could ever wish for, and now he was gone, gone, gone, and she might not see him again for thousands of years, she might not see him again until the end of the world...the thought was impossible, insupportable, unbearable, and she cried and cried.

She could not think about anything until they arrived to Narogrotto, but once she and the refugees that went with her reached the safety of the secret halls, she composed herself enough to face Artanáro, who ran to receive her. "I felt your anguish," he said, "but I could not decipher its cause. What happened?"

"The High King is dead. Hihlum has fallen, and the Enemy is victorious."

Without a single word, Artanáro embraced her, and they wept together.

"Gwindor, too, probably," she remembered after a time. "He was among the first to charge, and...you will have to tell your sister."

Artanáro shook his head. "She knows already. He is not dead, he is captured. We fear Guilin might be fading, and Findoiolosse...my father is with her. She blames me, I fear, and you as well."

That was not very surprising, given that Galadriel blamed herself too.

Only later, in her chambers as Celeborn held her, she gave herself leave to put into words the source of that guilt, and of grief, also, beyond that of Findekáno's passing and Gwindor's capture.

She now understood the true dreadfulness of the doom of the Noldor.

Had Turukáno come out of his Hidden City for Battle of Sudden Flame, they would have won and her brothers would not have been dead. Had Narogrotto joined the battle in full force now, they would have won, too. All of them united, the Noldor would have defeated the Enemy, and so their doom made sure that they never were.

And her own fate seemed to her to be, in this, the bitterest of all, perhaps aside from Maitimo, whose idea had led to so much sorrow. For the path she had chosen, in her indecisiveness, proved to be the worst of all. Had she advised Narogrotto to march to war, the battle would have been won. Had she advised Artaresto to order all of his people to stay inside, Gwindor would not have perished with all his soldiers, and the battle might have been won too, for he would not have started the attack prematurely. Her particular decision led to the most pain that could come from this to the Noldor.

She knew it was the result of the doom that lay upon them all, but it did not diminish the burden of guilt. In anguish, she cried this question to the West: "Why? Why am I being punished so for the mistakes of Fëanáro? I who had no part in them, why should I be visited by such suffering?"

But no answer came, and she felt lost even in Celeborn's arms, lost now without all of those who had been with her through her blessed childhood and young years. There was only Maitimo left, slowly being driven mad by his Oath – and oh, his pain in having contributed to Findekáno's death must be so terrible, when he owed this friend his life – and...Itarillë. The name blazed through her mind like the last beacon of hope, and she cast away her pride and fell to her knees and prayed as she had not prayed since the day Findekáno went to rescue Maitimo to Angamando. "Lords of the West," she said, "if there was ever any good in my actions or intentions, if I ever helped anyone or saved but one life, if I have but the smallest right to ask for something for myself, I beg you for this: do not let Itarillë die. The death of Findekáno was like half of my soul was taken away, but hers would have been a wound deeper than anything imaginable, and if there is one thing I may ask you for, it is her life I want. I do not need to see her again on this shore, but do not let death take her. I entreat you, Lords of the West, and I beg you, the greatest of all, Eru Illúvatar, Immeasurable, have mercy on me and grant me this one wish, if I should never have the right to ask anything of you ever again."

And the stars in the night sky shone brighter.


	27. Dead That Live

**Chapter 27: Dead That Live**

 _Year 474 of the Sun, Narogrotto_

After Findekáno's death, there was little joy left for Galadriel, and that what she had was in Artanáro and Celeborn.

It took her months to emerge from her grief about Findekáno enough to be able to at least attempt to involve herself in politics again, and when she did, she found it would be much harder than before.

She was the only one to go to the last battle and return, and so she was blamed – not quite unjustly, she knew – for the tragedy. Many turned away from her, and it got worse after their fears were confirmed and Guilin faded. Her advice was no longer trusted or regarded as wise by most, and Findoiolosse now looked at her not merely with wariness, but with distaste and almost hatred.

Galadriel still believed her help could do some good for the kingdom, but she stopped going to the council altogether, instead only offering counsel through Artanáro. She knew when she was not wanted, and did not have the strength to face the animosity there, not so soon after such loss.

She spent more time with Midhel and Tyelperinquar instead. Midhel, especially, did what she could to help Galadriel, drawing from her own experience with pain, and The Nolde often spent long hours by talking to her about the burdens of her heart, burdens Celeborn could not fully understand and Artanáro was often too busy to listen to. "I feel guilty," she said, "for...exhausting you in this way, when I feel I should be assisting you instead."

"You have, my lady," Midhel replied, "you've been helping me for years, and...at least I feel useful this way. At least my life has a point. It...helps me get through every day."

Galadriel gave a tired sigh. "There's no need to call me lady," she said, "not after you've seen me weep so many times. We're friends, aren't we?"

"Yes," Midhel allowed hesitatingly.

"Well then, my friend, I'm glad I can be useful in some way, too. But I thought it was your son who helped to give you the will to go on?"

"Yes," she admitted, "but he's an adult now, though still young. He doesn't need me as much as he used to. It doesn't give me purpose anymore." At Galadriel's worried look, she added: "I'm in no danger of fading, not now, the wounds are too old, but...I feel so tired, most days. I don't think it'll ever be the same as before."

"Don't give up hope," Galadriel said, almost pleadingly.

Midhel only gave her a look, but did not reply.

"Very well," Galadriel said, "let's talk about something else. Surely there must be a topic that won¨t lead us to tragedy again?" She searched her mind for one, but her thoughts were attracted to the last battle as if by an invisible force, and that battle and despair were joined beyond repair in her mind.

Still, by exerting herself, she remembered a little something she had been wondering about before the disaster happened. "Beleg and Mublung were in Hithlum before the battle," she said, "and it was the first time that I've ever truly been in company with both of them. It made me wonder...tell me, are they in love?"

Midhel smiled. "Oh, yes, the worst kept secret in all of Doriath."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, they keep it private, you know. King Thingol disapproves."

"Why?"

Midhel shook her head. "Don't ask me to understand the reasoning of kings," she said. "But he does, and Beleg and Mablung both love him well enough to respect it."

Galadriel sighed. "That is something I can't imagine, _respecting_ someone so much I would deny myself being with someone for whom I feel the Flame."

Midhel raised her eyebrows. "You believe it is the Flame?"

Galadriel frowned. "Well, I don't truly know that, naturally. You're right, in fact, I don't know enough to tell."

She paused. It was interesting, because when she had asked Lady Melian about this, centuries ago when she was only coming to Doriath as a visitor and noticed there were no Select couples around, the Queen told her there were none to be found in the kingdom. She had assumed it was because the Sindar had not been to Aman, but now it seemed that the Queen had been wrong after all… It was not too surprising. With all respect to Queen Melian, she was not as interested in her subjects as she could have been.

"There has not been a new Flame felt in this realm for a long time, has it?" Midhel continued, unaware of Galadriel's musings.

"No," the Nolde agreed. "Not since Finduilas and Gwindor, in fact."

Then a spasm of pain went through her at that memory, and irreverently, she thought, _and we are back to tragedy once again._

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Apart from Midhel, Galadriel also spent much time with Celeborn, who in spite of his limited understanding could comfort her like no one else, either by his embraces or by long talks to distract her. He never strayed from her side for a long time after the battle, and it took a long time for Galadriel to convince him that he could leave for long enough to go visit Doriath, that she could cope. "You'll bring news to distract me with," she said at length, and so he went, taking Midhel with him.

When they returned, they had some news indeed. "King Thingol has adopted a son," Celeborn said, "and you'll never believe who it is."

"Tell me, then."

"Túrin, son of Húrin."

Galadriel stared. "A _Man_?" She asked incredulously. "After he almost drove his own daughter to death because she wished to marry a mortal – no, he actually drove her to death, given her fate now – he adopts a _Man_?"

"Well, he _is_ the son of Húrin Thalion..."

"I seem to recall something about father's deeds, even had his service been rendered to Thingol personally, availing not."

"In gaining the hand of the king. This is different, and perhaps he'd learned his lesson." At Galadriel's snort, Celeborn shrugged and said: "I also think Beleg helped to convince him. You know he witnessed Húrin's brave fight in the last battle, and wished to provide for his son. Perhaps the king feels ashamed for not marching into the battle, and this is his attempt to make up for it."

"That'd be a first," Galadriel muttered.

"Well, it did happen, at any rate," Celeborn said, "and this is the best explanation I can come up with."

"What does your grandmother think?"

"My grandmother said that she gave up on trying to understand the king a long time ago," he said with a smile. "But I spoke to grandfather and he says the king is sorry for his treatment of Beren now, and so he took pity on this kin of his. That's what he told him, anyway."

"And of course your grandfather will always believe anything Thingol tells him."

"Now you sound like my grandmother," he muttered, and she laughed.

"How was Túrin accepted at court?" She asked then.

"With mixed feelings. My grandmother's circles try to be as welcoming as they can, but my mother's are suspicious and Saeros' are downright hostile."

"Of course they are. He's an outsider, and when has Saeros ever been kind to outsiders? I'm only surprise he'd risk incurring Thingol's wrath this way."

"He's careful not to show it in the king's presence, and Túrin is too proud to tell tales." He sighed. "But it's not only Saeros. You know he has many supporters, and I've seen Oropher behave in a way it hurt me to see. Saeros has been whispering into his ear ever since Midhel was first kidnapped, and you can see the fruit of that plainly now."

"Is Oropher hostile to Túrin as well?"

"Not the way Saeros is – he respects Thingol too much for that – but you can see he views him with contempt."

He sighed, and Galadriel took his hand. "Do you...regret leaving Doriath?" She asked.

"No," he said, with emphasis. "My place is by your side, and you have every right to choose not to live in a land where the king treated you this way."

In answer, Galadriel kissed him.

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The difficulty of her new situation in Narogrotto, combined with the ever-present pain caused by Findekáno's absence, was enough to make Galadriel long for some peace. She missed the calming power of Lady Melian's presence bitterly, because that had always been the place to go when these worries and imperfection of Middle-Earth grew to be too much. She missed it, but not enough to enter Singollo's realm again. Still, she felt the need of a healing presence, a respite, and so in the end she finally decided to honour the invitation Lúthien had extended to her, and depart with Celeborn to Tol Galen for a while.

Hearing about her plans, Artanáro begged to go with her. That did not sit well with Galadriel.

"I do not want to leave Narogrotto without either of us protecting it, and it is a long way to go."

"I understand, but I cannot go to Tol Galen without you, as you know, and I dearly with to see the dead that live with my own eyes; and they are mortal now, so there is not much time."

Galadriel considered his request, and then said: "I will leave you here now, and go only with Celeborn, to ask leave of Lúthien to bring you with me the next time I come, for I do not know how she would react to your presence – they went in search of solitude. When I go next, I may leave Celeborn here to advise your father and take you instead, if Lúthien allows it."

Artanáro assented, and Galadriel and Celeborn set out on the long journey.

They travelled along the southern side of Andram until they arrived in the lands where the sons of Fëanáro had retreated after the Battle of Unnumbered Tears. They crossed them as swiftly as they could and continued south along Gelion. These lands were still mostly protected by Narogrotto, Doriath and the sons of Fëanáro from the Enemy's forces, and so the journey was not too dangerous and was pleasantly freeing in a way. Galadriel remembered Irissë, with her love for wandering afar. She had never shared that passion, but after years of the pressure that came with trying to manage Narogrotto while being widely disliked there, it was a relief to ride speedily under the sun and, too, to have time alone with Celeborn, without any pressing worries to mar their shared moments.

They crossed Gelion and continued to Adurant until they reached Tol Galen, where Lúthien welcomed them them warmly just beyond the ford, and embraced Galadriel.

"Beloved," the Nolde said, "how have you been?"

"Quiet and content," Lúthien replied. "Come, I have someone I want to introduce to you." And she led the way through the meadows and small clusters of trees until they saw Beren – and with him, a young boy, more beautiful than any child Galadriel had seen before.

"Meet Dior, son of Beren," Lúthien said. "Our son."

Then she squatted down to Dior and added: "And Dior, these are Princess Galadriel and Lord Celeborn, formerly of Doriath, though they dwell in Nargothrond now. They're your second cousins."

Dior frowned: "So they're brother and sister?" He asked. "But you told me brothers and sisters look similar to each other...they don't look similar at all."

Lúthien laughed. "No, they aren't brother and sister – they're husband and wife. Lord Celeborn is your second cousin because his grandfather Elmo and your grandfather Thingol are brothers; and Princess Galadriel is your second cousin because her grandfather Olwe and your grandfather Thingol are brothers."

"So...they're second cousins to each other, too?"

"Indeed, beloved."

Galadriel smiled. "And you don't have to always think of us as Lord and Princess – we'll not call you Prince Dior either. We're simply Celeborn and Galadriel, distant relations and friends of your mother."

"Not of my father?" The child asked sharply.

"Perhaps his as well, but we didn't have the time to meet him for long enough to say. But if not yet, then we hope to become friends while we stay here!"

"And so do I," Beren replied, approaching them and welcoming them.

They spent some time all together, but soon enough, Galadriel's need to talk privately to her friend overwhelmed her manners, and they went for a walk. "I can see that you're truly blissful in your marriage to Beren," Galadriel said, "and yet I sense a hint of sadness in you. Do you miss your parents?"

"A little," Lúthien admitted. "My mother, at least, and the pain I've caused her hurts me, as does my father's betrayal. But it's easy to forget these things when I'm here. No, I believe what you sense is..." She paused, hesitated. "Dior is eight years old," she said then.

Galadriel stopped, and looked at her friend in horror. "He ages like a Man," she realized.

"Yes. He isn't...mortal, as such. I believe he will be able to choose his ultimate fate. He's half elven, half human. He grows quickly to adulthood, but won't grow old, not unless he chooses to. It isn't...a bad fate, for him. But it's difficult for me. It...it hurts. I feel like I don't even have time to grow acquainted with him before he changes again." She closed her eyes. "Sometimes I long for the simple life I had before I met Beren," she said quietly, but then shook her head. "No, I'd never give this up. Dior's ageing is the only dark spot on my happiness, and the reason why we don't have more children. I couldn't bear this again." She hesitated. "Will you...take me to Aman, in your memories, again?"

"Of course," Galadriel replied.

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Galadriel and Celeborn spent ten months in Tol Galen before they turned back towards Narogrotto. They felt refreshed and full of strength again, and Artanáro did not indicate anything to be wrong in his father's kingdom, so they rode back leisurely, enjoying the last moments of peace before the work of catching up with everything that happened in the last year awaited them.

It got easier, for a time, to carry the burdens of the city and bear the loss of Findekáno, for Galadriel was drawing strength from the quiet bliss of Tol Galen, even marred by Lúthien's pain as it was. She went about her efforts to help her brother's realm in any way she could, and she spent time with those that were dear to her.

Celeborn went to Doriath again two years after their visit to Tol Galen, and he brought back news of Túrin's growing friendship with Beleg, and Saeros' hostilities being more open than ever before. "He's jealous of Túrin's station with the king," he said, "and so is Oropher, I feel. I don't like this. I don't like this at all."

"What is Túrin like? He's an adult by human count now, isn't he?"

"He is, but I haven't actually seen him. He was out there somewhere with Beleg, helping with guard duty. They say he's a very capable warrior. I hope so, for his sake – he might need to take care of himself."

So now this worry joined Galadriel's other burdens, and all together, they soon began to weight heavily again. She grew more tired once more, by the constant political battles in the still-divided kingdom, and by Artaresto's whims which sometimes did not allow for the most reasonable course of actions, and by the animosity she felt from so many, Findoiolosse still chief among them. All of this would have been enough to make her with to return to Tol Galen, but it was not the only reason. She knew, too, that Lúthien missed her, missed the relief that her living memory of Aman could provide from the pain of watching Dior age so quickly, as well as the other pains of this world. So, as she had promised to Artanáro and because Lúthien and Beren had allowed it, she took him with her and departed for the island of the dead that live once more.

This time, too, she enjoyed the chance to talk with her companion for the journey uninterrupted, and taught Artanáro a lot she had not found time to before, about the Blessed Lands and the earliest history of the Noldor. There were enough tales about that to last them the whole way, and she talked especially of those her heart longed for the most – and among them, the greatest number of tales was of Itarillë, for Artanáro had never met her and she loved and missed her dearly.

The whole Tol Galen family welcomed them at the ford this time, and Galadriel felt an echo of Lúthien's grief, for instead of the boy she bid goodbye to what seemed to her some short years ago, a young man now welcomed them alongside his parents – and yet he was the same Dior.

Lúthien saw that thought in her mind, and Galadriel could feel the pain intensify in response. But her friend gathered herself, and smiled at Artanáro as Galadriel arranged the introductions. "It's a great honour," her great-nephew said. "I've heard so much about you, my lady, from my aunt, and I've long wished to meet you in person."

"And I've heard much about you as well, many times. If there ever was one elf Galadriel entirely approved of, you'd be him. That was a wonder I had to see," Lúthien teased, and Galadriel felt a pang, for this sounded like something Findekáno or her brothers would say.

Artanáro blushed. "What is praiseworthy in me is because of the attention she gave me," he said, "and of course, my mother and kings Fingolfin and Fingon as well."

Galadriel sighed, and pushed back another pang of pain she felt at those names. "And your father, beloved. Don't forget him, for when you were young, he taught you much of wisdom."

There was a hint of pain in Artanáro's face as he remembered that lost time. Beren seemed to notice, for he said: "Let's go to the house. We have a small feast prepared for you."

Once again, Galadriel sought confidence with Lúthien as soon as her manners allowed. The pain from Dior's quick ageing had not diminished, she knew, but she soon learned there was a new matter to weight on Lúthien's heart. "Dior wants to leave for a time," she said, "to experience the world beyond this island and the lands around it where we sometimes take him. It's natural enough, I suppose, but it's hard for me all the same – he's still so young in my eyes. But if he must go, then I ask – will you take him with you when you leave, and accompany him to Doriath's borders? Beyond them, I'm not worried about him, but he's too innocent, and though we tried to teach him something about the ways of the world, it can't be all done from the safety of our island. And I don't trust the sons of Feanor who control the lands behind Gelion."

"Of course we'll take him with us, Lúthien, and I'll attempt to teach him what I can of my own wisdom. Don't worry about him: the sons of Feanor won't harm me." Those who would were not strong enough, and the one who was strong enough never would.

And so Galadriel dwelt once again in peace in Tol Galen and drew strength from its bliss as she helped her friend to escape from her pain into her memories of Aman. The world felt less oppressive to Lúthien now that she was with Beren, Galadriel knew, but the pain that came with Dior meant she sometimes still needed the respite. When the two were not alone together, Galadriel was educating Dior in the things she knew and Lúthien did not, as she had promised, and talking to Artanáro about what he saw in Tol Galen and in the lands around it, where he sometimes ventured. It was his first proper experience with the Green elves, so he was a little intrigued, but Lúthien occupied more of his attention, Galadriel knew. He was fascinated by the power and otherworldliness he felt from her, and grateful for every moment the Sindarin princess was willing to spend with him. "She sees things," he said to Galadriel, "around us, I mean, in the world, thing I would never notice on my own."

Galadriel smiled. "Yes," she agreed. "I know it well."

Given the beneficent nature of their stay in Tol Galent, Galadriel was not eager to leave, but after some months, she began to feel disquiet in Celeborn's mind, disquiet that worried her. And one day in late summer, it resolved into a thought as clear as can ever be sent by mind speech: _Come back, I'm worried._

Galadriel had planned to stay in Tol Galen until the autumn, as that was when she had come as well, but she could not ignore such summons and told Lúthien their departure would be hastened. The Sindarin lady was saddened, but did not protest, understanding Galadriel was bound by responsibilities like she herself had never been. And so a fortnight after the Nolde received Celeborn's message, they set out, and after reaching the lands of Narogrotto turned north and left Dior, amazed at the diversity of the world he had never seen before, to cross the Girdle of Melian and be received by his mother's kin there. Galadriel and Artanáro turned back south, and arrived in Narogrotto two months after receiving the warning message.

There, a surprise awaited them, for as Artaresto came to welcome them, a Man they did not know stood by his side. He was tall and handsome, and could pass for an elf with someone whose sight was less keen; but there was a dark doom over him, Galadriel saw.

"Welcome, beloved," Artaresto said to Artanáro in Sindarin, "and welcome to you, aunt, as well, back from your journey. Allow me to introduce to you an honoured guest of our realm: Túrin, son of Húrin, of House of Hador."

Galadriel masked her surprise at this relocation, politely inclined her head and went through the welcoming formalities, but she hurried to be with Celeborn as soon as possible, to discover what his worries had been about.

"It's Túrin," he said. "I see the doom over him, in a way I had not when he'd still been a child, and I see that he's gaining much influence."

"Over whom?"

"Over the people and over the king, too, recently, since his true identity was discovered," Celeborn replied, pacing. "He came under an assumed name at first, and I didn't recognize him, which is another thing that adds to my worry. And Finduilas loves him."

"Finduilas loves him?" Galadriel asked, shocked. "Has she forgotten Gwindor?"

"That's another matter – Gwindor escaped, and he returned to us. It was him who brought Túrin here, for he rescued him from captivity. But he's changed by his years of service to Morgoth, and he looks like a mortal man in his late years. Finduilas abandoned him for Túrin, who doesn't return her affection."

Galadriel frowned: "I always knew that her mother's death and her father's sheltering left Finduilas weaker than she could have been, but I never thought her to be shallow."

"It isn't that. I believe that, not being strong, she simply fell prey to the force of Túrin's personality, to the magnetism of his doom."

Galadriel now understood Celeborn's worry. She remembered what happened the last time such as could enchant hearts of the people came to Narogrotto – its king died. She also remembered the last time a mortal man came to an elven kingdom and the king's daughter loved him. "What does Orodreth think about it?"

"He loves Túrin – more than he has loved Rodnor for a long time, it sometimes seems to me. Túrin is like Rodnor in some ways, though he does not have his wisdom, but there's one important difference: he's skilled in flattery when he wants to be. He reminds Orodreth of Rodnor as he perhaps could have been, loyal to his father, not to his great-aunt and dead Noldorin relations."

"Rodnor loves his father, as you well know."

"I do, but does Orodreth? And even if he does...can you say with equal certainty that Rodnor respects him? Túrin at least pretends to." Seeing her eyes, he added: "I'm not blaming you, my love. You love Rodnor and do all you can for him. But Orodreth is hurt and alone, and Túrin knows just what to say."

Galadriel's upset grew. Was it doom of the Noldor again that she would be gone when this man came? Or was it his own doom? Or both, perhaps, combined to some terrible purpose?

At the feast, Túrin was seated next to Artanáro at the other side of the king than she and Celeborn were, so she did not have the opportunity to speak to him until later, when Artaresto rose from the table. Then, she approached him.

"Túrin, son of Húrin," she said, "it's a pleasure to see one of your great house in our halls."

"Is it?" He asked. "I didn't see too great a joy upon your face when you spied me standing next to your nephew."

Fine, be that way. "I can see the doom on you, son of Húrin, and I know it might bring disaster to this kingdom. Yet we needn't be enemies. Your doom isn't of your own doing, and I don't blame you for it. I've been told that you've gained great popularity with the king. That might be a good thing – tell me, what sort of advice do you give him?"

"So that you can be sure it's in line with your own interests?" He sneered. "What I'm saying to him is simple enough – that the elves of Nargothrond are not such cowards as to have to hide from their enemies and only shoot them secretly at distance. This realm is strong, and can wage open war."

Galadriel smiled. "And does he listen to you?"

"Not yet, but then it's but two months that I gained my position with him."

"By all means, continue saying so; for it's what his son and I have been telling him for years, and I to my brother before him. The form of war Nargothrond leads now is fitting for when bad times befall the kingdom, but that hasn't happened yet."

Túrin seemed surprised. "You agree with me, then?"

"Yes – or perhaps you'd better say that you agree with me, for this has been my council since long before you were born, and in fact, since before your fathers came from the east. Sometimes it was listened to, sometimes it wasn't. My nephew is much more opposed to it than my brother ever was, and these times are more dangerous, so it's partly with reason. But yes, we can afford to lead the war more aggressively than we've been doing until now."

"I've been thinking," he said, "that firstly, we should build a bridge."

"A bridge? That would greatly lower our chances of defence..."

"But we can't have proper offensive without it – the armies cannot ride out effectively, and more importantly, they can't retreat with speed. Without a bridge, if you raise an army, you sentence them all to death in case of an enemy stronger that they had expected."

Galadriel considered this. She knew her brother would not have liked it, but then, she was not her brother. "It'll take time to convince the king of this," she said, "but yes, I'll support this idea – as long as the bridge is such that it can be easily destroyed once we hear that larger enemy forces are approaching and we need to defend our city."

Túrin agreed, and thus began their uneasy alliance.

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AN: I got a review after last chapter saying that they thought this was supposed to be canonical and so what was slash doing here. Just for the record, Tolkien never says 'no homo' anywhere, though of course we know that, being a conservative Catholic, he wouldn't have really approved. But it's not in the text. And for anyone interested in my reasoning for including it: the first draft of this story included no slash. But then I thought about how on Tolkien's scale from "Arda is a totally fictional world" to "Arda is basically our world", I tend to be closer to the latter, and so that made no sense. So the next step was thinking that OK, so there'd be lgbtqia among Men, but perhaps there are no gay elves. But I was still uncomfortable with the implications of that, given how elves are basically depicted as the most good and closest to the Light. So, gay elves it was.

My reasoning went further, to particular forms of depiction, but I'll comment on that when we come to them in the story. So far it's all very third-hand.

Also, in my planning notes for this story, the meeting between Galadriel and Túrin was described in these words: "she returns and is like, wtf? and he's like, i don't even care, lady, and she's like, you know feanor at least wasn't dumb." It might still get to this phase later, mind you.


	28. Fall

AN: Sorry for the delay. It's really irritating when real life gets in the way. Speaking of which, I have a deadline at the end of March, so it might happen that I'll miss some updates entirely (though I'll try not to), but if I do, I'll make it up to you by additional updates in April.

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 **Chapter 28: Fall**

 _Year 495 of the Sun, Narogrotto_

It did not take long for Galadriel to begin to regret her alliance with Túrin.

She asked Celeborn for more details about his arrival soon after her return from Tol Galen, and found that he had stayed in Narogrotto under his assumed name for a relatively long time, gaining popularity with its warriors, and that it was only when Gwindor revealed his name against Túrin's wishes that Artaresto took note of him. That implied Gwindor knew more, and so Galadriel pushed back her fear of being loathed by the elf who had suffered captivity and torture and the loss of his father because of her bad decision and went to see him.

Gwindor, as it turned out, did not fault her. "It was my own failing," he said. "I should have controlled myself, but when they killed Gelmir, I could not..."

Galadriel put a soothing hand on his shoulder. "Do not blame yourself," she said. "Had I been close by when Findekáno died," and it still hurt to even say those words, "I do not know if I could have restrained my anger."

"Yes, my lady, but then your power would have been enough to overpower his enemies."

Galadriel sighed. "Perhaps. But then you did as well. I know you got to the gates of Angamando itself before you were trapped. Your attack was born of despair, not of wisdom, yet it almost brought ruin to the Enemy nevertheless. But let us not speak of this any more. I wished to ask about Túrin."

A spasm of pain went through Gwindor's face. "I would rather not talk about him either, my lady."

"I understand, but surely you see that I need to know."

Gwindor sighed resignedly, inclined his head, and talked. He told her what he knew of Túrin's tragic past, of the doom that pursued him everywhere, of the accidental death of Saeros, and how the Man had unwittingly killed Beleg. At that, Galadriel choked. "No," she whispered, her eyes widening. If what Celeborn said was true and they were close friends, then...she could not imagine anything more terrible, more tragic. Túrin's fate was dreadful indeed. And Mablung...he must be devastated.

"And now Findoiolosse has been ensnared in this doom," Gwindor continued. "Believe me, please, that I would not detest her for choosing differently than me, but with Túrin I fear for her. And yet...I feel that she, perhaps, could break this curse."

Galadriel closed her eyes and tried to make sense of the very uncertain and unclear visions of the Man she had after she first spoke to him. "Marriage to her is not part of the dark path in front of him, no," she said after a moment, "but it is only indistinct before me, and I do not know if that truly means she could free him, or if it simply means they will not be together. Your sight may be better in this."

"Rare enough would that be, my lady. But yes, it appears to me that if he takes her to wife," and Gwindor's throat seemed to tighten in pain, "they will both be saved, and if he does not, they will both be doomed, he by his fate and she because she was touched by him. But...I still cannot make myself encourage them. Does that make me weak?"

"No," Galadriel replied, with emphasis. "You are one of the strongest elves I have ever known, Lord Gwindor, and you know some of the greatest of the Noldor were my friends."

"Yet Lord Nelyafinwë was held captive by the Enemy for many years and still could lead his armies and rule his kingdoms. I can do nothing any more," Gwindor replied bitterly.

Galadriel shook her head. "Maitimo was broken in different ways," she said. "One cannot be held by the Enemy and remain unscathed. Your mind and spirit, Lord Gwindor, stayed with you, and that is a blessing."

She saw his next thought as clearly as if he had said it aloud: _Not enough of a blessing to retain Findoiolosse's love._

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Not long after Galadriel had this conversation with Gwindor, Artaresto gave Túrin the position of the commander of Narogrotto's armies. The position Gwindor used to hold.

Was Artaresto laughing at him, she wondered? Was he taking revenge on Gwindor for leaving for battle when Findoiolosse begged him not to, for abandoning her, for causing her pain? Galadriel did not like the thought, but the more she looked at Artaresto, the more likely she found it, and her heart bled for the way her nephew had been broken.

Artanáro confirmed her suspicions. "Father now prefers Túrin as a future husband for Findoiolosse," he said. "Even though we have reason to believe that they would not be granted the same mercy Beren and Princess Lúthien have, and that she would have to suffer his death and separation from him till the end of the world. Or, if they were granted the same mercy, it would be Father who would be separated from her for eternity – and I, of course. Yet he cannot forgive Gwindor, and loves Túrin too well to oppose. Indeed," he added bitterly, "it seems to me that he loves him too well to reproach him with anything at all."

Artanáro disliked Túrin, and Galadriel liked him only a little more. He was strong and brave, but had no wisdom and was prideful and too convinced of his own truth. Galadriel wondered if it was her fate to find echoes of her fell uncle in every realm that she chose to call her home. As with Fëanáro, Túrin had greatness to him, but greatness untempered by any form of the Gardens of Lórien.

Yet at first, their alliance had been tolerable and profitable. Within a year of their first meeting, the bridge was built and the task of cleaning the lands of Narogrotto from the Enemy's creatures began.

The year after that, everything seemed to go as they had devised it on the battlefiled, their armies going from victory to victory. Inside the city, it was a little sourer. Galadriel was not happy with how much political support his military victories gained Túrin. She even began to attend the council again, hoping to contain him, but in vain. Chiefly, those who had once supported Artanáro for his strength now turned to Túrin for the same reason, and all those loyal to Artaresto saw the Man as merely an extension of that, since he and the king seemed to always be in accord. Sindarin was now spoken by all the courtiers in the city, as a mark of respect for the Second-born who did not know Quenya properly. But it all seemed to be to a good purpose so far, so Galadriel consoled herself by this, and reprimanded herself for having such desire for power that she resented Túrin for having more than her.

It was in the third year of Túrin's influence that it all turned sour. He came back from another victorious battle and, in the next council, insisted that the simple drawbridge he had built be replaced by a proper, sturdy version that would allow for larger army movements. Gwindor spoke against him, with Artanáro's and Galadriel's support, alarmed and pointing out the dangers of such a project, but the king gave one look to Túrin and said that he who had led Narogrotto's armies more successfully than any before him – Gwindor reeled back as if slapped – knew best what was right to be done. The bridge was to be built.

This was the first occasion when Galadriel's vague worry changed into something darker, but she could not shake off the fear that it was merely a mark of her own pride. Did she truly care about the fate of Narogrotto, or was she simply upset that her own counsel was not heard? This fear prevented her from being as harsh towards Túrin as she otherwise might have been. The bridge was constructed, and for a year it was used by their strong armies, again going from victory to victory and Túrin being more loved in the realm than ever before. Not since Ingoldo's death have the inhabitants of Narogrotto felt so strong and safe. He returned to them the pride they had lost when they let their king go to his death almost alone, and there was nothing they could have been more grateful for. Almost all in the kingdom were jubilant, and even those who still retained their loyalty to Galadriel or Artanáro thought that Túrin deserved admiration and that the other noble lords were, perhaps, just a little too harsh on him because of his success.

Until, one day in spring, messengers came to them from the Mouths of Sirion. They were of Angaráto's people, Arminas and one whose name Galadriel did not know. She was happy to see them, to see evidence of some more who have survived. They greeted her warmly too, as their lady, but their words were for the king as he stood in the entrance hall of his city. "The Enemy moves again in the north," they said, "but that isn't the message we bear. No, it's something larger. Lord Ulmo appeared to Lord Círdan, for his faithful service and for the love he had for your late king Finrod Felagund, and he has a message for your realm. Hear the words of the Lord of Waters! Thus he spoke to Círdan the Shipwright: 'The Evil of the North has defiled the springs of Sirion, and my power withdraws from the fingers of the flowing waters. But a worse thing is yet to come forth. Say therefore to the Lord of Nargothrond: Shut the doors of the fortress and go not abroad. Cast the stones of your pride into the loud river, that the creeping evil may not find the gate.'"

Galadriel sang praise to the Valar in her mind for this warning, that allowed them to undo Túrin's folly in time, and Artaresto was visibly shaken by this proof that he should have listened to his aunt's advice. Túrin, however, turned to the gathered people and spoke thus: "Then Lord Ulmo is underestimating the power of Nargothrong! For we're strong, and we aren't afraid of the Enemy, and we won't destroy our bridge to make him think so. He'd only see that as a sign of our weakness, and _then_ he'd attack!"

Galadriel descended the stairs where she had stood to face him, incredulous. "Such folly can only be uttered by those who don't know who the Valar are," she said, "and don't understand their wisdom. No strength of Nargothrond can be hidden from the Lord of Waters, for his river runs bellow our city. When he warns us, he warns us fairly."

Túrin returned her look with a hard one of his own. "Yet didn't the Lord himself say that his power withdraws?" He asked. "With it, his sight too, and so he can no longer see us clearly."

"Pride's a bad counsellor, son of Húrin, and remember what ill it did to you in the past. Your doom is dark; don't drag this bright city into it," Galadriel cautioned.

"And isn't pride your counsellor also, when you seek to support your opinion, one that didn't find approval with the king, by the word of the distant Valar?" He retorted.

Galadriel almost laughed. "If the Valar support my voice," she said, "that it doesn't indicate my pride, it indicates my wisdom. What makes you believe that you know better than me and them?"

"Because I've been afar in the field and seen our armies in battle, whereas you hide in the caves of this city," he replied contemptuously.

Galadriel pulled herself to her full height. "I don't need to ride afield to see, and if I wanted, I could read every dark thought from your mind, son of Húrin. I've known such as prideful as you, and to all of them, it was a downfall. But I'll say to you what I said to another, once – Feanor, though fell and arrogant, had at least been truly great before the darkness consumed him. But every one of your great deeds has been stained by evil, and so, too, your attempt to rule Nargothrond will. I give you this last chance to avert your doom: hear the words of the Lord of Waters, and destroy the bridge!"

"I won't, and if any attempts to do so, I'll fight him to death – their or mine."

A murmur went through the rows of elves gathered there, and in that hour Galadriel saw that the people of Narogrotto, though many feared Lord Ulmo's words, loved Túrin too much to allow anyone to touch him. Artaresto looked horrified, yet he would not step forward and go against the Man who was so close to him. Galadriel was seized by a sudden strong urge to take control, the urge she remembered from Valinor, the desire to turn the fates of her people away from the dreadful doom that awaited them by force. But she had won over this temptation once already, and so she took a deep breath, and then slowly exhaled, and as she did so, she returned in her mind to every hall and chamber she knew, to the times spent here with Ingoldo and Artanáro and Midhel and Tyelperinquar, to the visits of her brothers, to all the beauty and joy this city had known, and that she had known in it. Then, with great pain in her heart that she did her best to push back, she turned to its people and said: "The choice is yours now – stay here and perish when this great realm turns into ruin, and it won't be long, or leave with me at this moment so that for a time you may still live – how long, only the Valar know."

The murmur in the crowd grew louder, and Artaresto hurried down the stairs to speak to them quietly. "You cannot do that," he said angrily to her, leading her aside. "You cannot tear my kingdom apart."

"If I can save one life by this, I will do it," she returned. "I have seen too much death to allow more to spare your pride. If you cannot control Túrin, you leave me no choice."

"He is right – it is your pride that makes you hate him."

Galadriel gave Artaresto a sorrowful look. "I do not hate him," she replied. "I pity him, and I pity you, and Findoiolosse, and all the waste of life that will happen here. But I will not remain to witness it. Lord Ulmo spoke plainly, and his words made my own visions become stark clear as well. The kingdom does not have long left with the bridge remaining."

They were speaking in Quenya, so Túrin did not understand them properly, but he approached them nevertheless and said: "Whatever she's saying to you, my king, know it's only her jealousy and pride making her speak. She always wished to have control of your realm, to wear the dwarven necklace once again, and if she can't, she'll at least try to ruin it."

Galadriel looked into Artaresto's eyes and saw him take these words in and consider them, saw them take root in his heart, and turned away, knowing she had lost this battle. She had lost this battle centuries ago, when Ohtarwen died, it seemed to her.

Celeborn was waiting for her close by, and she took his hands for a moment before they both turned to Artanáro. He stood to the side, a storm of conflict raging in his eyes. "I know you are right," he said to Galadriel, "and I want to go with you, and yet...can I abandon my father and my sister?" He asked.

"If you remain here, you will perish," Galadriel replied simply. "But it is your choice to make. I...wish for you to come with me, I wish it more than anything, for you are one of the few joys left to me in this world and I love you and cannot bear the idea of your death...but it is your decision, and I know how hard it is to leave your father behind. And I, at least, left mine to bliss, not to ruin. So make you choice, beloved, but...forgive me if I do not watch. I could not bear it." With these words, she embraced him tightly and went to find Midhel and Tyelperinquar.

"Of course we'll go with you, us and my people," her young cousin said immediately. "You know well that since King Ingoldo's death, it's been only you we've been loyal to in this kingdom. But...where will I go? You know I kept from Doriath for all these years, respecting King Thingol's wishes against Noldor not of your house in his realm."

Galadriel turned her eyes to his mother, but when no words were forthcoming from her, she said: "You're Midhel's son. You kept away out of respect, and she stayed here for you, but now you'll be refugees, with nowhere else to go. Your mother's sister is kin to the king. They'll accept you."

Tyelperinquar looked towards his mother, and more hesitatingly, she said: "Doriath is my home. I've been there many times in the last years. I...don't believe they'd turn my son away."

In spite of its uncertain tone, it was a more confident speech than what could have been heard from Midhel but a few short years ago, and despite the darkness of the hour, Galadriel was pleased. She simply nodded and left them to prepare their departure.

There were not many that chose to go with her. No even all who were loyal to her, for abandoning their beloved city seemed like too much of a price to pay. Some, she knew, accepted they would die with it, but still were not willing to leave. Gwindor was among those. "I know the truth of your words," he said, "but I cannot abandon Findoiolosse."

But some did go. Those who were born in Aman and so Narogrotto was not the only home they had ever known, and those who came with her from Hithlum after the Battle of Unnumbered Tears and so trusted in her foresight and never grew very attached to Narogrotto.

And Artanáro, and some of those who were loyal to him.

He came to her the day after her argument with Túrin, as the preparations for departure were being finished, and said: "I will go with you."

She embraced him tightly for a long moment before she said softly: "Your father…?"

"Please do not ask me anything, not now," he replied. "Just know that I will go."

And so they went.

The first night of they journey, as they broke camp to have a little rest, Galadriel turned to her group of refugees and said: "There are two places where we can go. Doriath, a realm that is still strong but where I cannot guarantee you acceptance...or Mouths of Sirion, a much weaker and smaller place, where I believe Lord Ciryatan has gone after Falas fell, and where I know they welcome all elves."

"And what do you yourself prefer, my lady?" Brannor asked her.

She smiled. "I would prefer the quiet island of the dead that live, but I cannot take you there, so my preference is immaterial."

"It should not be," Artanáro muttered. "You saved all of us that are here by standing up to Túrin and by making our choice plain to us. You should have the right to choose."

"Precisely because I saved you, you became my responsibility," Galadriel returned. "I cannot abandon you."

"If it is our choice, it is hardly abandonment," Tyelperinquar replied. "My mother and I can take care of those who prefer to go to Doriath."

"And I can take responsibility for those headed to the Mouths of Sirion," Gildor added. "I would rather not go where I am not wanted."

Galadriel hesitated. It was so tempting, and she had promised herself she would never again enter Doriath, and yet...it still felt like abandonment.

"I would love to see the dead that live once more," Artanáro whispered.

And just like that, it was decided. There was very little Galadriel would not do for Artanáro in that moment, so soon after he bid goodbye to his closest kin forever.

They all headed east together nevertheless, until they reached Doriath's borders. There, they waited in the shade of the trees. Celeborn had let his grandfather know they were coming, and it was communicated back to him that they would be met by someone at the edges of the forest. Galadriel had expected this, for she had promised Lúthien she would bring Dior with her when she returned, but she was surprised to see, apart from him, Celeborn's grandparents and parents, as well as Galathil, Doroneth and both of their children, Oropher with a nis she did not know at his side, emerge from among the trees.

She rose to greet them along Celeborn, and as Doroneth immediately went to her sister to embrace and welcome her, the lady by Oropher's side was introduced as Alfirinel, his wife. Galadriel, after expressing her pleasure at meeting her, turned her questioning eyes to Lady Ernil. "It's an honour to be so welcomed," she said, "but I must confess my surprise."

Lady Ernil raised her eyebrows. "It's not for you that we're all gathered here," she replied. "It's for Nimloth."

Galadriel turned her gaze to the young lady, and she smiled a shy smile in response. "Dior and I have felt the flame of the One," she said, "and we're to be married."

"My daughter promised to give her hand to Dior, son of Lúthien," Galathil confirmed, "but he longs to return to his parents now, and she chose to go with him. We can't all travel to Tol Galen, and Dior doesn't wish to marry without his parents' blessing. So we have blessed their union in Thousand Caves in the presence of king and queen, and they can say the oath to each other properly in Tol Galen." He turned to Celeborn. "I ask you to be with her instead of me and her mother, and to put her hand into Dior's."

"It'll be an honour to do so, brother," Celeborn replied. "Give my greetings to the Queen and our great-uncle, and may his realm prosper long. In return, I ask this: we have with us some that decided to leave Nargothrond after my wife foretold its doom. May they pass in the protection of Doriath? They were most of them servants of Finrod when he lived."

"Most of them?" Oropher asked with scorn. "And the rest? You know the king will not accept any others – and we've heard rumours, too, that there are servants of Feanor's sons still in Nargothrond. If there are any such among you, know that the king will not see them enter."

Midhel paled and Tyelperinquar took her hand. Doroneth turned from her sister to give a look full of anger to her son. "What foolishness you speak, Oropher!" She said. "Celebrimbor's father might be a son of Feanor, but he had renounced him, and he is, first and foremost, my sister's son."

Oropher flushed. "I didn't mean my cousin, of course," he muttered. "He can be nothing but welcome. I meant...the others."

Midhel seemed to have gained strength by her sister's support, and she said: "All those others, as you say, have renounced my husband as well, and have been loyal to my son for decades now. Why would you bar them from entering?"

"I only follow my king's orders," Oropher muttered, and his wife pressed his hand in encouragement.

"Yet it isn't the king who controls who can enter the realm," Lady Ernil interceded, "it's the Queen. Let them try to pass the Girdle of Melian. If they can do so, they have been welcomed to the realm by such with higher authority than we have."

Galadriel gave Lady Ernil a quick look. Clearly, this had been agreed upon with Queen Melian, and Galadriel was surprised to see that the Maia was willing to such political arrangements. Perhaps the tragedy with Beren and Lúthien changed her as well – insofar as the Ainur could change.

Many of Tyelperinquar's people were offended by Oropher's speech and chose to go with Gildor instead, but those closest to him, and some of those loyal to both Galadriel and Artanáro, prepared to cross the belt. "We'll return," Galadriel promised to her people. "When Lúthien's now mortal life runs its course, we will come back and I will see you all again." And then they crossed the border, and Queen Melian welcomed them, and Galadriel could see them no more.

Tyelperinquar and Midhel were the last to enter the realm, each embracing her tightly before disappearing for who knew how long. Galadriel only wished they could find contentment there, as she bid goodbye to those who were to travel to the Mouths of Sirion and went in search of hers.

The journey to Tol Galen was not shorter from this border of Doriath than it was from Narogrotto, and they had much time to talk. Galadriel saw that Dior was truly a young man now, but his short years showed in his lack of wisdom and experience. He admired his grandfather and was too young to see his faults, and could not appreciate the more measured approach of Lord Elmo. "And do you regard Oropher as your friend as well?" Galadriel probed.

Dior grimaced a little, and Nimloth laughed and said: "My brother is...rather peculiar, lately. He found favour with King Thingol early on, as I suppose you remember, and it made him a little too proud to be comfortable company."

"He's truly devoted to my grandfather, though," Dior added. "I respect that."

Their journey mostly passed in the retelling of Dior's time in Doriath, and from Nimloth, Galadriel also heard details she had not known about Túrin. It made her feel all the more regret for what became of him, and what would be his dark fate.

Lúthien and Beren welcomed them together at the ford across Adurant, and Galadriel saw Lúthien's eyes cloud with pain as they aligned on Dior. It was left to Beren to welcome the small group, and his son's bride in particular, until Lúthien collected herself and joined her words to his.

They all sat together in one of the meadows of the island to talk and share their latest news, though Galadriel hesitated to darken their quiet peace by the dark tidings she was full of, and so preferred to let the others speak. Once again, later, she walked alone with Lúthien, and told her friend in privacy that this time, they did not come merely for a visit. "I don't want to impose on you," she said, "and yet of the places I can go to stay, only Tol Galen and the Mouths of Sirion remain, and while I admire Lord Círdan greatly, I never saw him enough to call him a close friend, and so going there would be, in many ways, going to strangers. Besides, your time here is limited. If you'd allow me, I'd like very much to spend as much of it as I can near you, and then when your days in Arda are over or when you've had your fill of my company, I'd move to the Mouths of Sirion." She sighed. "I don't wish to part from my last remaining friend here sooner than I have to."

Lúthien smiled at her. "I told you when we were leaving Doriath that you'd be always welcome here. I wasn't lying. It need not always be directly on the island – the lands around here are still safe." She sighed. "I believe that, unless they wish to return to Doriath, we'll set Dior and Nimloth up somewhere close to here too. Every look at him pains me."

Galadriel pressed her hand.

-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-

Dior expressed his wish to live close to his parents at least for a time, so he and Nimloth were tasked with selecting a place where they would like to settle. There was no hurry, however, and for now months were spent in companionship even as Galadriel and Artanáro awaited, with rising dread, the time that Narogrotto would fall.

It was an ordinary autumn day and Galadriel walked with her great-nephew along the riverbanks of Adurant when suddenly, he gave a sharp cry.

"What is it?" Galadriel asked quickly, knowing in her heart the probable answer. She herself could not see Artaresto's mind, but his son could, though not too clearly.

It took Artanáro a long time to reply. "My father," he said then, "he is dead...and not just him, there was a battle..." He turned his eyes to Galadriel, full of despair. "They are all dead…

"All?" She asked urgently. "Has the city been taken?"

"No...I can sense Findoiolosse is still alive...but she is in despair. If they all rode out...it will be taken."

"Tell her to run, then, to get away!"

But the bond between Artanáro and his sister was not strong enough, and she could not, or would not, understand him, and so the days of torture began for Artanáro, in which he knew the fate that awaited his sister, but had not yet felt her live through it.

Galadriel had known that herself during the Battle of Unnumbered Tears, when she waited for Findekáno to die, and before when Ingoldo had been in the dungeons of Tol-in-Gaurhoth, and knew it was a unique kind of pain that could hardly be matched. She never left Artanáro's side, and tried with what she knew of healing to ease the pain of his soul. When she could, Lúthien came as well and helped with her own special arts. Yet neither of them could lessen the grief and sorrow when at long last, on the sixth day, he felt his sister die, and felt her last thoughts being of Túrin still, a vain call.

Galadriel embraced him tightly and let him weep on her shoulder as she stared into the distance. Another place she considered her home lost, and again it seemed through her fault, her lack of foresight, her mistakes. She wondered, now, how long Doriath would last – and, what worried her even more, the hidden city, the one elven kingdom she had never known, but where one of the elves she treasured the most lived.

It seemed impossible those last two realms would fall, and yet she had known from the beginning that there was no hope against the Enemy without the help of the Valar and that it was only a matter of time until their doom caught up with them; and Singollo had dragged his kingdom into a dark fate when he asked for the jewel to which he had no right, and that, Galadriel feared, would be his downfall. She could still not imagine, however, how the sons of Fëanáro would break Queen Melian's protection.

Artanáro was wounded deeply by his father's and sister's death, the pain not softened by being expected. "I wish," he said bitterly, some days after the tragedy, when he tears ran dry and turned into anger, "that that Man's mind could have been changed the day Lord Ulmo sent his message of warning to Narogrotto. Or at least Findoiolosse's, so that she would not have perished in vain. Were you not strong enough for it?"

Galadriel gave him a sharp glance. "I was. I could have changed both of their minds. But what use would saving the city be if I fell into darkness?"

"They would have been alive!" Artanáro replied furiously.

"If we believed that after death, we pass into darkness where suffering awaits us, then perhaps your argument would have held and it would be worth it to go against everything that is right and holy to save even one single life," Galadriel replied, attempting to keep her voice even and not show how his implicit accusation hurt. "But it is not so. We go to the Halls of Mandos, and after the Valar judge us worthy, we return to our bodies and may walk in Arda again. I will not turn against the One merely to save anyone from the time in the Halls of Mandos that they themselves deserved by their acts."

"And the torture they go through before, if they are captured alive by the enemy? What of Gwindor's fate, would that be enough?" He ask, pain giving his questions a cruel, ironic overtone.

Galadriel pressed his hand. "We all go through various forms of torture here, beloved. Such is the nature of Arda Marred. That can never be reason enough to take away someone's will."

"Why do you have the power, then, if you may never use it?" He asked in frustration.

 _To be a constant temptation to me_. Aloud, she said: "There are subtle uses of my power that do not lead to bending others' will to my own, and such are allowed. When Singollo's riders pursued me in Doriath, I did not directly control them – I merely made them see some of the glory of the West reflected in me, and it was enough. I made them see in me, if you will, what I could do to them had I been fell enough, and they ran. It is the same power, only used differently."

"And if you had made Túrin see the future of Narogrotto?" He tried again, desperate.

She shook her head. "I cannot share my visions with people, I cannot make them see things that are not somehow there already, only hidden from them. I could have shown him the possibility, but not the certainty, not unless I controlled his mind completely, and that, as I have told you, I will not do."

"Could you not have protected the people of Narogrotto from Túrin's influence, then?" He asked, pacing. "My father?"

She sighed. "Not once he was inside the kingdom, and in your father's heart. No, Artanáro, believe me, if there was a way to save Narogrotto without slipping into darkness, I would have done it. It was one of my homes long before it was yours."

He closed his eyes. "I am sorry. I just..."

"I know."

"I feel guilty for not staying."

"Do not. You would have perished."

"I would have stood bravely till the end, at least." He gave her a long look. "I asked my father for advice after you left me alone with him, after your argument with Túrin. He told me to do what I wished. 'If you love Artanis better than your own father,' he had said, 'then go with her, and I shall not keep you.' It was that moment that made me realize fully that, for a long time, you had been more of a parent to me than he. That is why I left."

He paused, and Galadriel embraced him and said: "I am honoured by such words. And do not feel guilty, for I know what this is like. I have regarded Ñolofinwë with greater affection than Arafinwë ever since I was barely an adult, as you know. It is our right to form bonds where we choose, as long as we do not stop loving our parents and spouses."

He tightened his arms in their embrace. "I know that," he said. "That is not what troubles me. But I thought that leaving with those I loved the most was better than dying with those I loved less, and now...faced, once again, with the choice between these things, I think I would choose the second, no matter how many others I love more I would leave behind. I could not give up a fight for someone I love again. I have tried it, and I cannot bear it."

Galadriel did not know what to say. Her entire life in Middle-Earth, she felt, had been only this, giving up fights for those she loved, and perhaps Artanáro was right, perhaps death would have been better. It would have certainly been easier.


	29. Pride

**Chapter 29: Pride**

 _Year 503 of the Sun, Tol Galen_

It was eight years later that Galadriel's nightmares came to pass.

The years in Tol Galen were strange for her. Until then, she had always lived in royal palaces with great honours, and now she was staying in simplicity under wide open skies, and instead of responsibilities she was used to, she had only herself, her husband and Artanáro to care about.

At first it had been a balm to her troubled soul, but as years passed, she began to feel restless and knew she could not stay much longer in Tol Galen before she started to mar its bliss. Yet she also felt very strongly that she should not leave yet, that she should stay with Lúthien until the end of her friend's days.

The dilemma was occupying more and more of her thoughts as time went. Should she perhaps depart for a time and then return? But depart where? She had given her word she would see those she had accompanied to Doriath again, but she also promised herself she would never set foot into Singollo's realm. And going to the Mouths of Sirion held little attraction for her. It was strange, to be so without purpose, when during the whole of her previous life in Middle-Earth, she always had so many places she wanted to be at once.

But then, it was chiefly the people there who made those places attractive, and they were all dead now. So where to go?

It was one warm evening as she was contemplating this conundrum that suddenly, the quiet of Tol Galen was broken by a sharp scream of agony.

Galadriel rose and ran to where the voice came from, the voice she knew belonged to Lúthien. She found her in one of the many clearings, Beren already with her, and hesitated on the edges, not wishing to interfere.

Lúthien was clearly unharmed, so Galadriel just patiently stood and waited, and when her friend's mind calmed a little, the Nolde could finally glimpse what happened.

Singollo was dead.

Lúthien did not know why or how the king came to die in his own protected land, but she knew he was dead and wept, tears so bitter as she never had before, and her mind half withdrew from her body as it wandered on the path of memory to seek her father.

Galadriel helped Beren carry her to their house, and to care for her as she lay there as if in death and days passed.

For the first week, Beren never left Lúthien's side, but as time progressed, his disquiet grew. "I'll need to venture out," he said, "and attempt to find out what happened. If it was a mighty attack by the Enemy, we could be in danger as well."

"I've felt neither Midhel nor Tyelperinquar die," Galadriel replied, "and Celeborn's parents and grandparents live also, or he'd have sensed it. I don't believe it was an attack with force. Nevertheless, go. I can care for Lúthien, and Celeborn and Artanáro are here to help me."

Beren hesitated for a time, still unwilling to leave his unmoving wife, but at length, he went. He returned some days later, alarmed.

"No force of the Enemy has been seen passing through here, but there's a rumour that the protection around Doriath has disappeared. Has the Queen perished? But how?"

Galadriel shook her head. "No," she said. "I can still see Lúthien's mind. She hasn't perished, but she...is preparing to leave Middle-Earth. Her protection was withdrawn, and she is now saying farewell to her daughter before she leaves."

"That is why Lúthien doesn't wake," Beren realized.

"Yes. She's fully with her mother now. When Lady Melian departs," and Galadriel's breath caught on this, for she had hoped she would see the Queen one more time at least, "Lúthien will wake, though she'll still grieve deeply for her father."

"Doriath is in danger now, without a king and with its borders unprotected."

"It can't be helped."

"Perhaps." Beren paused. "I'll have to get Dior."

Galadriel only inclined her head. She remembered Oropher and his wife and son were now visiting with Nimloth and Dior, and she felt sorry for Celeborn's nephew. He would blame himself, she knew, for his king dying in his absence, however unreasonable it likely was.

Beren hesitated with his second departure long enough that Lúthien woke, and held him back for some more days, weeping on his shoulder for her dead father and departed mother. "My love," he asked at length, "has your mother told you how your father perished?"

Lúthien turned her sorrowful eyes to him. "No," she replied. "What importance does it have? He's dead."

So they continued unknowing, and finally, Beren felt he could hesitate no more and set out for Dior, and Galadriel was left to console her friend the best she could. It was not, she observed, very effective. Lúthien suddenly seemed very lost. Though she never expected to see her parents again before she died, she had also never expected them to die before her. Was it another mark of Eru's wrath, Galadriel wondered, that he let Singollo die before Beren?

Dior came back with Beren, and with him, his entire family. He and Nimloth had three children now, little twin boys and a daughter Galadriel had only seen when she helped deliver it, a few short months ago. The children were tired by the journey, and Galadriel and Artanáro promptly took them from Nimloth and did their best to ensure their comfort as those whose concern the fate of Doriath properly was gathered to decide what to do now.

It was difficult without knowing any details, and Dior especially was unwilling to put his wife and children in danger, and so he went out with Beren and Oropher once again to search for information.

They returned with disquieting news: a large dwarven army had been spotted marching west from Nogrod.

Have the dwarves received news of the Enemy that the inhabitants of Tol Galen did not? Why were they marching? What was happening? How could something that required an entire army to be deployed escape the Green Elves, whom Beren had questioned for his news, and the birds and trees and animals that these elves were in the habit of talking to? Was there danger, and how from them was it, and what was to be done? These questions were mused on for an entire day, until the messenger from Doriath reached them and brought the terrible message: Singollo had been murdered by the dwarves that he hired to forge a new, fantastic jewel for him.

The news of a dwarven army were much more sinister now, and Beren rose and said: "We won't leave my son's inherited realm in the hands of murderers. Such a crime must be avenged, not rewarded. I'll go with Dior, and with as many Green Elves as will be willing."

Celeborn rose too, with a heavy heart, and said: "I have to go. He was my great-uncle, and if we're to avenge him, then I can't stand aside."

Galadriel nodded and pressed his hands. She understood, and wished him to fare well as he left with Beren, Dior and Oropher.

This was when Lúthien awoke a little from her grief, and asked Galadriel: "Why does he wish go? Little joy it will bring us."

The Nolde sighed. "Because he has to," she said. Beren never managed to become quite as removed from everything as Lúthien had, even though he had tried, for her. In the recent years, he often talked with Galadriel about the world and its fates and realms, when Lúthien was not present. Unlike Galadriel, he did not wish to leave Tol Galen, but he could not make himself not worry about the lands beyond it. "In spite of everything your father did to him, he was still your father, and this is Beren's duty."

Galadriel saw that Lúthien did not agree, and perhaps she did not even entirely understand, and she fell back into grief once more.

Galadriel spent the following days wondering. What happened? Why would the dwarves, who for hundreds of years traded with Singollo and were firm allies of the elves, suddenly turn against them? And, because she had no faith in Singollo: what did he do, that it led to such a conflict? Had he perhaps offended them in some way, provoked them? He was apt to do so. It would hardly justify his murder, but there must have been something, some spark that started it. And how was it ever to be repaired, when an army seemed to be marching on Doriath just now? How was a full-blown war to be prevented?

And then all such thoughts were driven from her mind when she suddenly felt great pain from Celeborn and at the same moment, Nimloth next to her staggered. "What is it?" Galadriel asked urgently, for Celeborn's mind was too scattered to see.

"My grandfather," Nimloth whispered. "He...he's dead."

"What happened?"

"The dwarves...they reached Thousand Caves, and they...Yavanna, no, my great-grandfather is facing them now..."

"Lord Elmo?" Galadriel asked in alarm.

"Yes...he's fighting, I can sense it, but there are so many of them..."

If Lord Elmo and Lady Ernil perished, Galadriel knew, Doriath would truly be lost, for there would be no one left to direct its forces.

Dreadful days came for Nimloth, days when she could do nothing but wait for the death of her loved ones, quivering in fear, and cry in pain every time she felt another perish. Lord Elmo had succumbed to his attackers, and Galathil had been killed as well, only two days later. His mother then took up his sword, but she could not withstand the attack for long either.

In the end, of those Nimloth loved in Thousand Caves, only Midhel, Doroneth and Lady Ernil remained, their minds swimming with grief and rage that preyed on Nimloth's mind. Galadriel needed all the help Artanáro could provide to care for her as well as all three of her children, Alfirinel and Thranduil. Lúthien was better now, thankfully, and did not require their attention, but was still not well enough to be of any use. So Galadriel did what she could while, all the time, she felt Celeborn's pain in her mind.

She felt it turn to rage, too, and gathered that they encountered the dwarven army, and sat in fear for some time, until the rage turned into exhaustion and she could breathe again, for the fight was over, and only the questions remained: Why? And, how, how could they, the dwarves they knew, their allies – perhaps even some she had personally been on friendly terms with – how could they do such a monstrous thing?

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Celeborn and Beren returned in a month.

Galadriel had felt the broken state of her husband's mind over the distance that separated them, but it was still a shock to see his eyes, so much older than they had been when he left.

"How can you bear it?" He asked her once they were alone, lying in their bed, and he clung to her in a tight embrace, weeping. "I comforted you so many times when someone you loved dearly died, and I saw your pain, and yet now that it came to me, I can't...I don't have the strength."

"You do, my love," she opposed, caressing his hair as she spoke. "You felt them perish many weeks ago, and yet you went on and helped Beren, Dior and Oropher in their fight, and helped to punish the killers. You went on, and did what had to be done. That means you're strong."

"But can't you see it in my mind?" He asked in agony. "Every hour, every minute of every day is a struggle, to simply go on, ever since they died...now, in your arms, it's better, and the thought of you was the one thing that saw me thought, but..."

"But I do understand. Have I not known the same? After each of those I love died, I felt like I would never emerge from my grief, and at times, I felt like I didn't want to. But in the end, I did, for you and the others that were still alive, and so will you. Your grandmother needs you, and your sister-in-law also. If Dior chooses to continue the kingdom of his grandfather, he'll need you as well."

"He already chose," Celeborn replied. "I was tasked with bringing Nimloth and the children to him, as he starts on the rebuilding work under my grandmother's guidance."

"See? They all chose to go on, and so'll you. Precisely because I can see your mind, I know this. I've seen the minds of those who had been irreparably broken by loss," and here she had to take a calming breath as she thought of Artaresto and Findoiolosse, of the fading Guilin, and even of Turukáno to a degree, "and yours is not like that."

"Does that mean I didn't love them, then?" He asked, lost and desperate.

"No," she replied. "It means you love me, and the others who are still here."

With that, he kissed her.

When he was a little better, he told her of their fight with the dwarves, and she learned that they could not have overcome even the diminished dwarven army, not even with the many Green Elves who had gone with them, if it had not been for the ents.

"It was my mother's death," Celeborn said quietly. "My mother's and my brother's. You know that out of those who dwelt in Thousand Caves, they were almost the only ones who went to see them often. She, especially, loved them, and they loved her. When they learned that the dwarves had killed her...nothing else, I believe, could have roused them. You know they don't involve themselves in wars."

Galadriel thought of Lady Gelvil, of her staunch and unflinching defence of all that lived in Doriath, of her fearless opposition to those who would see but one tree cut down needlessly. _You were faithful to them, and they were faithful to you_ , Galadriel thought. She never agreed on politics with Lady Gelvil, but she could admire her, and she could mourn her death.

She spent many days alone with Celeborn, in quiet, helping to ease his grief. It was only when she emerged from this that she found that Beren had brought a gift for Lúthien from Dior with him: the dwarven necklace, in which the Silmaril now shone. Great anger took hold of Galadriel when she saw it, and had he not been dead, she might have well gone back to Doriath to release that anger on Singollo. For it was not enough for him to take the jewel of Fëanáro to which he had no right, he also now took the dwarven necklace, which had belonged to Ingoldo, whom he claimed to have loved, even though he knew there were surviving members of his family. Either Artanáro or she should have received the necklace, yet the king kept it to himself in his greed, as he did the Silmaril. She had no doubt that was what had been his undoing.

She did not protest, however, when Beren put it around Lúthien's throat. The Silmaril was their by right, and she would not want to destroy the beauty of it being set into the dwarven necklace by separating them, not immediately at least.

But Lúthien, with that jewel around her neck, was more beautiful than anything ever seen in Middle-Earth, and had Galadriel not gazed at the Valar long time ago in Aman, she would not have been able to bear the sight.

Celeborn and Artanáro could not. Celeborn chose to return to Doriath with Nimloth and her children, to join Dior and help him in his endeavour, as Galadriel had predicted. She was more surprised by Nimloth.

"Are you sure you wish to do that?" She asked her seriously before the younger lady left. "The memories there will be...alive."

"Yes," Nimloth replied, still grief-stricken, but also determined. "We have to show that we aren't so easily defeated, that Doriath will not fall because of the treachery of dwarves."

Galadriel felt she should not leave Celeborn alone at such a time, but equally, she felt that Lúthien and Beren had little left in this world, and hated the thought of leaving them in their last months. "Stay, then," Celeborn told her. "I'll be consoled by my family, and we'll always be connected by our thoughts. And if what you say is true, it won't be long until you come to me."

And so Galadriel stayed in Tol Galen only with Artanáro and the dead that lived once again. In solitude, Lúthien was almost able to return to her state of bliss and forget the pain of her father's passing. She danced and sang through the island again, even though the songs had a sadder tune now, with the beautiful jewels shining on her throat and making her more otherworldly than ever before. Artanáro mostly kept away from her, unable to bear it, but from time to time watched from a distance, enchanted.

Galadriel, on the other hand, still walked with her and talked with her and took strength from the beauty and light that was Lúthien in those days, and even though she felt the end approaching, it was blissful and more reminiscent of Aman than anything she had experienced in Middle-Earth, and it healed many of her wounds.

And then, one day, she came to Lúthien's house and it was empty, only the dwarven necklace with the Silmaril in it lying on the table that she faced when she entered. And she understood that had she walked to the edge of the forest, she would find their bodies lying there together, and understood, too, that they had not wanted her to; and that her friend was now lost to her until the end of the world.

She had known this day would come for a very long time, yet it still felt impossible to know she would never speak to Lúthien again in this world, never console her with her memories of Aman, never sing with her and watch her dance and be shown some beautiful flower or tree that she discovered. All of this, gone, gone to be with Eru. Lúthien and Beren were happy now, beyond the reach of any ills, but Galadriel felt a stab of loneliness deep in her heart, and she wept for a time, not for her friend but for herself, and for the loss she suffered.

When she gathered herself, she began to think about what to do with the jewel that was left for her to find, and then went in search of some of the green elves that lived nearby. "Come with me and Rodnor, please," she said to Galata, who was the one to meet her at the edges of their settlement, "and bring the dwarven necklace to Dior; for I don't want to carry it myself, for fear that it'd be seen as making a claim on it." Both the jewel and the necklace were Noldorin heritage, but it was Beren who cut the Silmaril from Moricotto's crown and Lúthien who wore it, and she wanted their son to have a say in what happened to it. If it was just the necklace, she'd have taken it – but the Silmaril didn't rightly belong to her, and this seemed to her like the most just solution, or at least one where her pride could not lead her astray.

Galata agreed, and as they set out on their long journey, Artanáro asked: "I do not mean to disagree with your solution, but...why could it not be you who carried the Silmaril to Dior?"

"You do not understand the degree to which these jewels are touched by doom, beloved. I had no desire to claim it. I worry about Dior having it as well, but he had never seemed proud or greedy to me, and someone has to make the choice. Mine, I fear, would not be fair. For if I was made to choose, I would have a wish to keep it at least for a time, seeing myself as the heir of the dwarven necklace. I would want to wear it until my cousins came to claim the Silmaril. A just decision can hardly be made based on wishes like that."

"From the stories you told me, many seem drawn to it. And it is beautiful, but I do not feel any...well, any desire to claim it. Do _you_ have to fight this temptation?"

Galadriel smiled. "It is more of a faulty judgement influenced by my private wishes. The Silmaril is not an object of dark power that ensnares your will. It is simply very beautiful. Yes, I would like to have it, as a memory of Aman and of my brother and friend, but I also remember when it was first uncovered. I remember my uncle's pride in it, I remember Queen Varda hallowing it, and the doom Lord Mandos foretold it. I did not desire to take it from my uncle then, and I do not desire to take it for my own by force now. I might wish I could wear it sometimes, and gaze on it, for its beauty, but that is all."

Artanáro inclined his head in understanding. "Yet you still feel it too dangerous to carry it yourself?" He asked.

"That is because of the Oath," she replied. "It spun a web of doom around the Silmarils, and while I do believe that if I merely took it with the intention to bring it to Dior – or even to keep if for the sons of Fëanáro - I would not be touched by this doom, I prefer to be certain. Galata is quite safe from this, I know. He has no personal ties to the jewel at all."

Artanáro indicated his understanding once again, and they urged their horses on to catch up with Galata. "Do the birds and trees tell you anything?" Galadriel asked him. "Is the road ahead safe?"

"For now," he replied.

And so they journeyed on, north along Gelion and then west – and there, to her horror, Galadriel spotted a Feanorion patrol. And what was worse, if she was not mistaken, Macalaurë was at its head!

She briskly turned to Galata and said: "Hide as you can hide and ride as quickly as you can ride, to Doriath, to give the jewel to Dior. I'll attempt to mask your retreat, and to hold them back."

Galadriel had no talent for hiding, as she knew from her attempts, centuries ago, with the same cousin she was now endeavouring to hide someone from. So thinking quickly, she tried something different. Instead of attempting to hide the fleeing elf, she simply touched the minds of the Feanorion patrol and made her own presence more noticeable. As she and Artanáro were now riding in the opposite direction of Galata, it was effective, but also meant they had to encounter the patrol.

It did not take Macalaurë and his people long to catch up with them.

"Nerwen," he said, surprised. "What are you doing here?"

"Riding from Tol Galen to Doriath," she returned.

"You were visiting with Lúthien?" He asked.

"Yes. But now I am going back to Celeborn."

"Will you not come to visit with us for a few days?"

She raised her eyebrows. "To the same house where Turkafinwë and Curufinwë stay as lords? Not unless it is the last place left in the world free of the Enemy."

Macalaurë sighed. "I understand," he said. "And even with Maitimo, you would find little pleasure, I fear. Our loss in the last battle...broke him. He cannot bear the guilt for Findekáno's death that he feels. He suffers from bursts of anger now that are uncontrollable, and we all fear him, though most do not like admitting it. That is why I ride out with the patrols...to get away." Then he laughed bitterly. "And there is little enough of our people left," he added, "everyone has to do their part if these lands are to stay safe." He paused. "Tell me...what happened to Tyelperinquar? Atarinkë cannot feel him, he cannot tell if he is dead or alive...did he perish in Narogrotto?"

Galadriel hesitated, but in spite of everything, she could not make herself keep that much secret. "No," she said. "He is alive. I saved him, in fact."

Macalaurë exhaled in relief. "Where is he?"

She gave him a hard look. "I will not give Curufinwë that information. His son renounced him and wishes to be free of him. He may know that he is alive, and that is enough."

A flicker of anger ran through Macalaurë's face, but it was gone as soon as it appeared. "You are right," he said heavily. "I am sorry to have detained you."

She shook her head. "It was pleasant seeing you, truly. It is your brothers I cannot abide." She hesitated, but it would be good to give Galata as much time as possible. "Shall we sit here for a while and talk?" She asked.

And they did. They only parted several hours later, and Galadriel congratulated herself on this escape...until she arrived to Thousand Caves, and found out how much she had overestimated Dior's humbleness.

She had believed that, having grown up far from royal courts, he would not have the same pride his grandfather did. But when they met him in the entrance hall, the dwarven necklace was on his neck as he stood there, noble-looking and beautiful, and in that hour Galadriel knew he would never part from either willingly and fear settled in her heart once more.

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Being in Thousand Caves was strange now. None of the courtiers she remembered were left alive and the city was devastated after the sack by the dwarves, and was only slowly getting back to its feet. Elves from all around Doriath were coming to live there these days, afraid in the forest now that Lady Melian's protection was gone and even the ents were leaving it.

Dior had no experience with government, but he tried his best to copy his grandfather's manner of ruling as he had seen it. Most that were left of the royal family now sat on his council, with Lady Ernil as the chief councillor, but as he had seen with Singollo, Dior rarely paid his advisers much mind. And they, for their part, could not protest this as sharply as they otherwise would have, not having enough strength left.

Lady Ernil's grief was almost like a physical presence hanging over her, hiding just behind her yes, behind every word she said, behind every suggestion she made in the council. For Doroneth, the death of her husband was another of many wounds fate had dealt her, but she, at least, had many of her kin still alive, and her sorrow showed chiefly in the time she always tried to make for them, for her children and grandchildren and her nephew's family. Amdír seemed to be constantly in shock, ever since the day he arrived, out of breath, to Thousand Caves from his family seat in Neldoreth only to find the city sacked and his uncle dead, Doroneth weeping over his body. Oropher was full of rage all the time now, rage that seemed barely contained. And Midhel...Midhel appeared to have lost most of the strength she had regained since Curufinwë was cast out of Narogrotto, and she was withdrawn and silent once again.

Galadriel had searched out the people who came from Narogrotto before it fell almost as soon as she arrived in Thousand Caves. They had dwelt in the forest, for while Queen Melian allowed them inside the realm, Singollo never welcomed them in the halls of his city, resenting their past connection to Fëanáro. Now Galadriel led them there, with Dior's blessing, and Tyelperinquar was soon busy working on the rebuilding that was so desperately needed, in between attempting to cheer his mother. He was one of the few present who had lost no one dear to them during the Sack, and his company was refreshing and jarring at the same time.

Dior himself was in a strange state of mind as well. He had bouts of humbleness caused, Galadriel thought, by his modest upbringing, and then moments of great pride when he recalled who his grandfather had been, and that he now ruled in his place. In one of the former, he searched her out, not long after she returned to Thousand Caves, and took a ring from his finger. "The ring of Barahir," he said. "My father gave it to me, to be the heritage of my line, he said. Yet it belonged to your brother, didn't it? It was given to my grandfather as a promise, an acknowledgement of debt, and that debt's been paid. Your brother no longer lives to take the ring back, so I now return it to you, with thanks. I hope that you'll keep it as a memory of friendship between our houses."

 _For me, it is a memory of how your father dragged my brother into his doom and led him to his death_ , she thought. Aloud, however, she said: "The love between your mother and me will always be the best guarantee that I won't forget the friendship between our houses, but I thank you for this gift. I saw the ring on my brother's finger for long years before he gave it to your grandfather, and it will be my memory of him. You keep the dwarven necklace, another of his jewels, so it's good of you to give me this at least."

And Galadriel _was_ thankful, yet she would have gladly given up this moment of magnanimousness and all the others if, when it came to the most important decision of Dior's rule, he had not been influenced by pride. But her fear concerning him proved to be justified when the letter from the sons of Fëanáro arrived, demanding the Silmaril. "How do you intend to respond?" She asked him when he presented it to his council.

"Respond?" He scoffed. "Such a letter deserves no response. There is no respect in it. They do not ask, they demand. And who are they to demand of Dior, Elu's heir, the High King of the Sindar?"

Galadriel sighed. "The rightful heirs of the Silmarils," she reminded him.

"My father took it from Morgoth's crown. It belonged to him, and from him it passed to me."

"If an orc stole it from you now, and another stole it from the orc, would this next one be the rightful owner?"

"Morgoth is no orc, and it took deeds of great bravery for my parents to get to this jewel," Dior said sharply, his voice beginning to rise.

"And as long as they kept it, the sons of Feanor did not dispute their right," Galadriel replied, trying to remain patient. "But you went through no difficulties to gain it, so what right do you have?"

"No difficulties?" He exclaimed. "My family was slaughtered for it. Let it be my blood-price."

Galadriel exhaled in frustration. "Yet it was not the sons of Feanor who slaughtered your family, it was the dwarves. But mark my words: unless you return the Silmaril to them, you might well die by their sword after all. I know their oath."

"My people will not be so easily defeated!"

"Perhaps not," Lady Ernil interceded. "But even if you are victorious against the sons of Feanor, many of your people will still die defending you. It the jewel truly worth it?"

"It was worth the risk of death to my parents, many time over. I will not give it away, certainly not to such that have done so much evil to our family and kin."

"I stand with my king," Oropher joined him. "We would became a kingdom to laugh at if our king simply acceded to every demand in this way."

"Not every demand," Galadriel emphasized. "This one has good grounds."

"It might be," Amdír agreed, "but how can you argue for granting requests to murderers and abductors? I for one would dearly love to be able to take revenge on those who are to blame for the death of my father and grandfather, and am almost looking forward to that fight."

And this, Galadriel thought, this was why the disaster was impossible to avert. Because to most of those who ruled Doriath now, the sons of Fëanáro were not chiefly the valiant foes of the Enemy she knew, but those who kidnapped and abused Midhel and left her brother and father and other kin to die.

"Have we not have enough death?" Doroneth asked. "When I think of my brother and father dying, defenceless, in the dungeons of Himlad, my blood boils as well. But they will not come back to life by death of others."

But Dior was adamant. He would not return the Silmaril, he would not even attempt to treat with the sons of Fëanáro. And soon Galadriel felt Maitimo's mind close to her by Unwill, and knew to prepare for yet another tragedy.

She went to the people who came from Narogrotto and gave them a warning: "The King keeps the Silmaril now, and refused to give it to the sons of Fëanáro. You know their oath, and you know they will come for it soon. They might not be so discerning as to only attack those who go against them first. If you wish to stay in Doriath, you will be safest in Thousand Caves, because there, you are likely to get an advance warning, but though you have been guests of this land for years now, I say to you: get ready to leave. Go now, or be prepared to depart this realm at a moment's notice, for we know not when the strike will come, and we know not who will win. I have not Seen."

Hearing that, some of them left the forest immediately and departed to the Mouths of Sirion, to where their friends dwelt under Gildor's leadership; others, those closest to her, Artanáro or Tyelperinquar, remained, but there was little peace in their days as they waited, every hour of every day, for the tragedy to strike.

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AN: I figure most able-bodied adult male elves from Menegroth must have died in the first sack, because they would not have simply stood by, and most of what remained were the elves who lived in the rest of Doriath, because they were too confused to fight, plus non-fighters.


	30. Death

**Chapter 30: Death**

 _Year 506 of the Sun, Doriath_

Once again, it proved that expecting a tragedy makes it no less terrible when it finally comes.

The royal family with some company was sitting in their rooms, sharing a pleasant morning. Celeborn had just left with Amdír's and Oropher's sons, promising to show them some thing or other in the forest, when Dior rose heavily and said: "Well, duty calls. There are several supplicants I promised to see today. Beloved, shall we?"

Nimloth nodded and rose as well. "Boys," she turned to her sons then, "will you go with us?" Galadriel encouraged the king and queen to take the twins to watch official state proceedings as often as possible, and since this was no grave matter, it was the perfect opportunity.

They boys nodded and jumped up, and that made Doroneth rise as well. "I will keep an eye on them for you," she said. It was usual for someone to go as chaperone, to free the royal couple from the necessity to watch their children during their duties. Nimloth nodded her thanks and turned to Galadriel and Filegil: "I will leave Elwing in your expert care, then, may I, Aunts?" Galadriel smiled and inclined her head, extending her hands towards the child that Nimloth had just put down from her lap. Elwing was restless and weepy today.

"Just a moment," Dior interrupted. "I will take this from you, my precious. Daddy needs to rule today."

He reached for the dwarven necklace on his daughter's neck, but Elwing started to weep inconsolably. "Come now," he said. "You know I let you wear it at all other times, but when I act as king, it has to be on my neck." Still Elwing cried. Nimloth came and took her husband's hand. "Leave it be for now," she said. "We have to go, and nothing will happen if you don't wear it for once. Our people remember who is their king."

Dior agreed, though clearly unwilling, and in that moment a dark foreboding that had been growing in Galadriel's mind for months now came into sharper focus. "Dior," she said. "Don't go. I feel the attack might come today."

"Are you sure?"

"No, but my premonition grows heavier, and I believe Elwing might be sensing something."

"Then that is all the more reason to go, and prepare the city."

"Leave the boys, at least," she entreated.

He hesitated, but then he shook his head. "The city will not fall in half an hour, if it falls at all," he said. "There will be enough time to get them to safety, and my people need to see I have faith. They must not panic. But if I'm truly to meet the sons of Feanor today, I'd like to have the Silmaril on my neck."

He tried to take it from Elwing again, but her wailing rose in volume and she ran away from her father, trying to hide. "We don't have time for this," Nimloth said urgently. "If we are to prepare for war, we have to act now."

Dior nodded curtly. "Try to get it from her," he said to Galadriel. "I'll send someone for it. Oropher, Amdír, go prepare materials in the council room. I'll deal with the matters in the throne room shortly, make the announcement of the situation, arrange some things and then I'll be with you. Aunt Ernil, Aunt Galadriel, if you would go with them…?"

Most of them inclined their head, but Galadriel frowned. "I told you I wouldn't fight in this battle, Dior," she said. "Not against my own kin."

"Not fight, no," he agreed, "but surely there's no harm in helping us plant he defence?"

Galadriel hesitated. "Very well," she said then. "I have to go let Rodnor, Celeborn and Celebrimbor know, but I'll come after that."

They all departed, leaving Filegil with the still restless Elwing. Galadriel walked briskly in search if those she wished to warn, turning her mind to Celeborn and urging him without words to promptly return to Thousand Caves. Tyelperinquar was the most important and took the longest find. He was, unsurprisingly, in his forge, but it was a long way there. "Get your people," Galadriel told him once she reached him, "and prepare them to either fight, or to run. The sons of Fëanáro are coming today."

Tyelperinquar seemed to freeze. "My father?" He asked.

"Very likely, yes. So I recommend you, in particular, to run."

He bristled. "Do you think I cannot take him?"

"No, I think you should not. He is still your father, in spite of everything, and I know you have some good memories of him too."

"Good memories that were bought by my mother's suffering!"

"You did not know that then. There are others who can fight him, there is no need for it to be you. I myself do not intend to fight the sons of Fëanáro unless completely necessary. They are my cousins, and I will not plunge a sword into Maitimo's heart because Dior refused to give up the Silmaril that did not rightly belong to him."

Tyelperinquar hesitated. That she herself would not fight clearly changed matters for him. "Very well," he said. "I will find mother and gather my people."

Galadriel found Artanáro next to tell him to gather his, and then Celeborn was finally back and she could tell him of the situation. "Find those who're loyal to me, if you can, my love," she said. "I promised I'd help Dior with the immediate defence planning."

"I'll find Brannor and pass the task on to him, then I¨ll join you in the council room," he said, and turned to leave.

Galadriel caught the sleeve of his robe. "Will you fight?" She asked. They had discussed this many times in the past, but now the time came to know the answer.

"I still don't know," he said. "I...will see."

Galadriel only nodded, and let him go. She knew she should not begrudge him the wish to fight for his own family, but if it was him who killed Maitimo today, could she ever bear to look at him again?

Galadriel headed to the council room, but on the way, she stopped in the royal apartments, to find Filegil with a weeping Elwing still there. It was there where the running messenger reached her to announce that the Feanorion army was upon them.

Well, it was too late for planning now.

"Let's take Elwing and go hide to the underground exit to the river," Galadriel said immediately. "We can return once it's safe, or...run."

Filegil nodded. "I'll just get the princes and join you. Wait for me here."

She departed at speed and Galadriel took Elwing into her arms and walked out of the room more slowly, to give herself an avenue of escape in case one of those Fëanáro's sons who had little reason to like her found her. She had no doubt she could defeat them, but there was Elwing to think of. _The princess must not be hurt. Her parents would be devastated._

So it was in the corridor, pacing, that Midhel encountered her. Her eyes were wide with terror. "They crept in," she said, and Galadriel immediately thought: _Macalaurë_. It must have been his skill that helped them. Midhel continued: "Some of them crept in, unseen, and they cut the throne room off. I can't get there, and my sister is there, and the little princes..."

"Filegil?" Galadriel asked immediately.

"She...she tried to get through, and they cut her down."

Galadriel scooped Elwing into her arms, even as her heart broke, if for Filegil or for her cousins' people who had become so fell, she did not know. "Come," she said sharply, and tugged Midhel by her free hand, running in the direction of the dungeons.

 _Should you not help?_ She asked herself on the way. _You are powerful, and you could perhaps change the tide of this fight, perhaps you could open the way to the princes...if you just gave Elwing to Midhel and turned back_...but Midhel could barely run herself, terrified as she was – terrified, Galadriel knew, of seeing Curufinwë again – and saving Elwing was the most important thing at the moment, for her Galadriel knew she could save, whereas the rest...visions were crashing into her now, visions that had not been forthcoming for so long, vision of so many dead bodies...but these were still her cousins and their people, and surely they would not hurt the children, surely they would not hurt those who did not fight them...and Elwing and Midhel needed to be taken to safety. Tears were beginning to blur Galadriel's sight but still she ran on, not letting go of either of them, shouting to everyone she met on her way to follow her if they wanted to escape, or to go and fight.

There was a way through Thousand caves that led down to the banks of Esgalduin to a hidden haven, a way only those who resided long in the city knew. Galadriel remembered, even as she approached it, how she had gone this way with Celeborn all those centuries ago, when they first fell in love.

Most of Tyelperinquar's people were waiting there already, with him. "Mother!" He exclaimed with relief, and embraced Midhel.

"Get into the boats, quickly," Galadriel said. "We don't have time."

They started to board. Artanáro arrived just as they did, with those close to him who still remained in the city. "Where is Celeborn?" Galadriel asked, starting to feel panic.

"I have not see him," he replied, directing his people to the boats.

Her alarm grew when those that were close to her started to come, and still there was no sign of him. "Have you seen my husband?" She asked Brannor.

"No," he replied. "But I am sure he will come, my lady."

About half of the people were now already in the boats, and she knew she needed to get in, to provide the best protection for Elwing. Yet still she hesitated. She could feel only panic and pain in Celeborn's mind. "Where is he, where is he?" She asked herself, and then finally she saw him at the other end of the corridor leading to the haven, supporting his grandmother with one arm and dragging Oropher and Thranduil with the other, their sons behind them.

"Help him," she said to Artanáro, and took Elwing and got in the next free boat.

She had another reason for wishing to ride in the middle, except for Elwing's protection. She intended to try and hide them in some manner, hide them as she had hidden that Green Elf carrying the Silmaril when last she met Macalaurë – though now she wished she had not been so successful then, for had Macalaurë found the jewel, this bloodshed would have been averted. She could hardly draw attention to herself this time, of course, but there had to be another way, with a mind such as hers, even if she was unsuited for the task of hiding...In the end, she realized she could draw the attention of another's mind to something else than herself equally well – anything in the world that was of at least some interest could be used in this manner.

So as they rowed down the Esgalduin, she extended her mind, looking for elves that could see them and touching their thoughts and turning them to this lovely flower or that beautiful tree as they passed, silently thanking Lúthien for teaching her to find these so easily. Tyelperinquar with Midhel led the long line of boats and Celeborn with Artanáro closed it, and so, hidden by Galadriel's power, they left the forest of Region and approached the Fens of Sirion.

It was not easy to keep her mind on the matter of hiding, for she could still sense those who did not manage to escape, and she sensed it when Dior died, and then Nimloth and Doroneth after him, like new wounds being ripped open with each new passing. A song that she had not thought of for quite some years came to her mind now, and very quietly, to the rhythm of her rowing, she started to sing the Noldolantë.

Only when the cries of agony turned into a menacing silence in her head, a silence that meant that all she knew perished, could her mind turn away – no, it had to, for she could not afford to grieve now – and she could take in anything but their journey itself, and the necessity to hide and push away those dying voices. And it was only then that she realized that Elwing, who she was still holding in her arms, had the dwarven necklace around her neck.

She was the only one Dior ever lent it to. He loved his daughter and her beauty, and often said that it would be her inheritance. Elwing loved the jewel, too, its bright light and its pretty stones. Nevertheless, today was the first time Dior was not wearing it when he acted in an official function.

Galadriel's first instinct would have been to cast it away otherwise, for she knew that as long as they had the Silmaril, they would not be safe from her cousins, but this strange coincidence that was not coincidence at all stayed her. It was clear that the fate of the Silmaril was not to be taken by the sons of Fëanáro, nor to be lost, at least not yet. And the necklace of her brother was too precious to her, and the Silmaril too reminiscent of the Light or Aman – the last one such reminder left in Middle-Earth, after Lúthien's death and Melian's departure – for her to cast them away easily. And so, in spite of the danger, she left it on Elwing's neck and covered it with her own body as they continued their journey.

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Crossing Andram had been dangerous and exhausting, weakened by grief as they all were, and with their boats to carry. Standing over the gates of Sirion, Galadriel looked with longing to the west to where ruins of Narogrotto lay, and to the east, where in the distance there was Tol Galen. Her past homes were beyond her and to her sides, and she was now leaving them all behind to go to the last remaining settlement of elves from the West, except the hidden city, where no one could go to seek refuge.

They climbed down the steep hill that separated them from water and got into their boats again, rowing with all their strength now, for the flow of the river was slower here and they did not wish to be caught in the open space. It was now seven days since the attack on Doriath, and the sons of Fëanáro were already sure to know that the Silmaril had escaped them. Whether they knew that it was not lost, but taken away with refugees, it was impossible to tell, but they would be looking, nevertheless. Elwing continued in Galadriel's arms the entire time, confused and scared, not understanding what was going on around her. Her great-aunt tried to calm her, but most of her mind was still concentrating on turning any possible enemies away from them, and so she did not have as much to spare as she would have liked for her young charge.

After a full day and night of exhausting rowing, they were finally in the land of willows. Not that it was precisely a safe space, but the cover of the trees at least shielded them from sight, and Galadriel was more afraid of the sons of Fëanáro than she was of orcs. Some of her cousins could have the strength of will to fight her; the orcs could not. So they slowed down to give their arms some rest, and as they did so, Galadriel sensed a different kind of consciousness nearby. "Treebeard?" She muttered, half aloud, half in her mind.

He showed himself to her soon enough. "Artanis Nerwen Galadriel," he said. "My lady. How unexpected to find you away from the trees you know so well."

"Doriath has been attacked," she replied with pain in her voice, the surprise at receiving a honorific from him barely even registering. "We are refugees."

Treebeard made a rumbling sound. "All good things are coming to an end," he said. "The one you used to call queen has warned us. Ents are migrating east."

"Not you, too?" Galadriel asked.

"I will go as well," he replied, "but not until the very end. As long as there is one tree to be protected this side of the mountains, I will remain."

"In the land of the willows?"

"In the land of the willows, for now."

"Is it safe here? We fear for our lives."

"As safe as it if anywhere now. But do not fear, I will tell the trees and we will protect your passage."

And so they passed it safely, and in two days emerged on the other side, a mere two day's journey from the mouths of Sirion.

Just as they began to approach the point where the river split in different channels, Galadriel noticed the minds of the guards on the river banks. She knew they needed to reveal themselves to them, to be directed to where they should land, but feared a possible reaction to their sudden appearance. She turned to the elf sitting with her in the boat. "Brannor," she said, "take Elwing for a moment, and hold her tight. I will reveal myself to the guards."

"My lady," he protested, "you can reveal me, I do not want you to risk..."

But Galadriel shook her head. "They will not shoot me," she said firmly, though to be fair, they would not have shot Brannor either. The elves from the West had ways of indicating clearly they were not the Enemy. Galadriel wondered if the sons of Fëanáro still had the power or if they had lost it, but quickly turned her mind away from such thoughts. She could not afford to be distracted at the moment.

She stood up and made herself seen, and she let the the light she had show. "Guards of the Mouths of Sirion," she called, "we come as refugees from Doriath. Direct us to the safest way to your havens!"

There was a long silence, then one of them showed to the outer eye, too, and asked carefully: "How many are you?"

"Several hundreds."

A look of astonishment appeared on the elf's face, and Galadriel made the rest of their convoy appear to him. He bowed to her in response, and said: "Proceed through the easternmost channel, my lady. We will send word of your arrival."

And so, they disappeared in the reed and finally passed into safety.

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Galadriel had hoped to meet Lord Ciryatan in the havens, but learned that he lived on the Isle of Balar. Gildor, however, and those who went with him or joined him later from Doriath, were there, and others who knew her from from different realms of Beleriand, and they welcomed her and those who came with her warmly. They were a scattered group of several thousands, mostly Noldor, ruled by representatives of Lord Ciryatan and Gildor, and the refugees from Doriath were given the highest honours, and most welcomed among them was the kin of the king of Doriath and the king of Narogrotto.

Galadriel feared showing them the Silmaril, thinking they might not be welcome when they were carrying such a danger with them, but she had underestimated the power and beauty of that jewel. Every elf present was proud to have been given the chance to set his eyes on that greatest work of the Noldor, and the light of the Trees it reflected, and they saw their settlement as hallowed by its presence. Galadriel wished she could believe it was true.

She hid the Silmaril in a locked chest in Elwing's rooms for now and attempted not to think of it much, as she suddenly found herself one of the rulers of the area.

Gildor gladly gave up his position to her and Artanáro, feeling, she suspected, relief. He was not made for too much responsibility, unlike his father, and here were two who had once been prominent in his kingdom ready to take the reins from him. Tyelperinquar retained control of those loyal to him, but equally gladly ceded the main decisions to his esteemed cousin while he busied himself with smaller tasks.

As for the Sindarin elves of Doriath...the pain they felt at the loss of their realm and all their loved ones was so great, and so raw, that most of them were trapped by it as if in a cage, and had hardly any thoughts for the outside world. In the weeks and months that followed, many began to fade, and all the strength Celeborn had left was spent on attempting to save them. Lady Ernil did what she could to help, but she had been almost broken by this second slaughter of her family, and most of her remaining will to live went to Oropher. He lost mother, sister and wife in that attack, not to mention other close kin, and it was only for his young son that he did not fade immediately. Lady Ernil threw all her efforts into saving him and healing him, so much so that Galadriel suspected it became the purpose of her life after all she had lost. Amdír, too, was holding on with all his strength, but his wife and son at least still lived, even though his mother had been among the first to perish, so he still had some family left to support him. All three of them did much work with the survivors as well, attempting to inspire and give hope and light in the descending darkness.

Those that were hit less hard by the tragedy would have naturally turned to Lady Ernil as their almost-queen, through years of practice, and to Celeborn as her second in command. But with all the work that needed to be done merely to save their people, much of the actual governance fell to Galadriel as well.

Busying herself with arranging proper defence of those lands, the Noldorin lady contemplated the deep irony of the occasion when she found herself being an effective ruler of a settlement – no doubt part of the Doom of Mandos that befell her. The last desperate hiding place of the Eldar, almost a mockery of the palaces she was born for, of the realms she once dreamed of. But she still had her life, and a place to call her own, and that was enough to be grateful for. That was more than almost all she loved had.

She turned her thoughts to those who died in Doriath.

She had feared this fate for Dior for a long time, sensing that even if his kingdom survived, he was unlikely to, and yet it was still devastating to know he was gone, Lúthien's beloved son, the sweet child who used to welcome her at the ford of Adurant and ask many curious questions about the outside world. Worse still, though, was the passing of Nimloth, the inquisitive young lady who used to come to Narogrotto once upon a time, wishing to hear every tale of the city and its inhabitants, eyes wide with the wonder of the new place, and dissatisfied that her mother wished to pay more attention to her sister than to what was around them. And Doroneth herself, of course, the wonderful lady and friend and sister, the one who never turned against Galadriel even though it was Galadriel's own cousin who imprisoned her sister, who always kept a hopeful mind, and who did everything for her sister once they were reunited. So many perished.

Apart from those Galadriel could feel dying, there were other whom she knew, servants and guards and council members, and Filegil and Alfirinel, and, worst of all, Eluréd and Elurín, whose passing was only sensed by Lady Ernil. Little children, Dior's heirs and hopes of the Sindar – and of Galadriel, too, for they had been dear to her and she invested many hours of her time to their education, hoping to mould them into good kings.

Had Maitimo lost all control of his brothers, or had madness finally claimed him, she wondered? And she remembered with pain the times when they still could be friends, their talks in Aman and his rescue from Angamando, and his apology to Celeborn at their wedding. It seemed but a short time ago, and yet so much had happened since then, so much was lost, so many…

If she dwelt on this, she would lose her mind, she knew, and so instead when she was not working on what the small city needed, she was spending time with those who were left. With most of Dior's and Nimloth's kin now drowning in grief, Galadriel took charge of a good part of Elwing's education. She did not mind, for the princess was bright and well-mannered, and time spent with her was in some ways a relief from the heavier duties. Elwing was a serious child, but she still brought joy wherever she went, simply for the beacon of hope she was to most that lived in the Mouths. She was the only true child there, though there were some young elves come from Doriath, and as the surviving heir to a royal line, they all saw her as a proof that not all was lost yet, that there was light even in the darkest hour.

There was one painful aspect to raising Elwing for Galadriel personally, though, that was becoming clearer as she grew: impossible as it seemed, the little princess looked very much like Irissë.

They were not related by blood at all, Galadriel knew, and as far as it was possible to tell with Elwing so little, were of very different characters, and yet every time Galadriel set her eyes upon the little girl, she was reminded of her cousin. Was Eru attempting to tell her something, she wondered? Was this, perhaps, her chance to make up for all of her lack of kindness to the White Lady of the Noldor?

Her bond with Elwing was not the only new one being forged. Artanáro spent much of his time with Thranduil, drawing on his memories of his mother's death when he had been young to help the Sindarin lord. "I do not wish to see him broken, like my sister was," he told Galadriel. "I fear there is no helping his father-" _As there had been no helping yours_ , Galadriel thought "-but for him, I will do anything in my power."

It was true that Oropher appeared beyond saving. He had disliked her during the last years in Doriath already, she knew, jealous of her closeness to Dior born of the years in Tol Galen, but now his grief turned his dislike into open animosity, and he left the room every time she entered it. He barely spoke to Celeborn any more, and even to those close to him he was often cruel and harsh. Amdír was one of the few who still got on with him, and for all she was happy Oropher had some companion at least, the influence he might have on Amdír worried her. He would not fade, that danger was over and they already lost those they would, but that was not the only thing to fear for elves.

He was not the only one to fall prey to bitterness, and many, Celeborn told her, were also seeking to place blame. "I've heard it said," he muttered one evening as they were lying together in embrace, "that Túrin and his dark curse were the cause of all our misfortune, that had Saeros, or Beleg, still been alive, this would not have happened."

"Have your kin been listening to those from Nargothrond?" Galadriel asked. "I wouldn't expect to ever find myself defending Túrin, but this was truly not his doing. Besides, you know my opinion of Saeros – indeed, you share it - and as for Beleg...he was a very great warrior and commander, but Mablung was almost equally great. Beleg would have been slain by the dwarves no less than Mablung had been. Do they not see this?"

Celeborn shifted a little. "Well, some do say that he...that he was never the same after Beleg left."

Galadriel frowned. "Of course he wasn't. How could they blame him for that? It was a mark of his strength that he didn't fade..."

Celeborn frowned. "Surely that's taking it a little too far? I know well that a loss of a friend is painful, but-"

Galadriel twisted in his arms to look at him. "A friend? So you don't know?"

"Know what?"

"Midhel said it was the worst kept secret of Doriath, I assumed...well, she said they were in love."

Celeborn's eyes widened, and it took him a moment to answer. "I...yes, I've heard something about it, yes."

"Well, then why are you surprised?"

He frowned. "Well, I didn't know if it was true, did I? I didn't want to assume...anyway, it's not important."

Galadriel blinked at him. He tended to get a little flustered when they discussed some Select couples, she had noticed that before. She wondered why it was. Perhaps because this form of Flame seemed so rare among the Sindar, even if not non-existent, as she used to think? "Not important?" She asked. "We were just discussing what the loss of Beleg meant to Mablung, how can you say it isn't important if they were in love?"

He shifted. "Well, it isn't the same as losing a wife or a husband."

Galadriel thought about it. "I suppose not – the bond does grow stronger after the wedding – but still..."

"That's not the only difference-" But here Celeborn paused, and his eyes suddenly widened.

"What is it, my love?" Galadriel asked urgently.

"My grandmother," he muttered.

"Lady Ernil?"

"No...Gilernil."

"Is she well?" Galadriel asked immediately. They had no news about Celeborn's kin that lived outside Thousand caves and refused to move there after the fall of the Girdle of Melian. They could only hope they would make their way to the Mouths in time, for Celeborn could not sense their minds over the distance and it was too dangerous to go and try to look for them blindly in the vast, now unprotected forests.

"No," he whispered. "It seems they were living together with some other survivors of Doriath, still refusing to leave their beloved forest, and...The One save us, it's teeming with orcs now, the whole Neldoreth is full of them, and...she is saying goodbye. They both are. I know it."

They were.

And so Galadriel held the weeping Celeborn in her arms once more, and knew that the beautiful land of Doriath was gone forever now, overrun by the Enemy, and all the remnants of its people with it, except those who still lived in the Mouths of Sirion. And how many of those would fade after this new tragedy, only Eru himself knew.

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AN: Oh hey! After missing an update, at least I gave you such a cheerful one to compensate, right?

But do not despair, the next chapter will have one (1) optimistic point to it.

Anyway, this was the update for a week ago, so I'll try to put up the update for this last Thursday on Tuesday, and then I should be back on schedule.

Except! It's also Legendarim Ladies April now (legendariumladiesapril. tumblr. com), so my goal is to upload two chapters a week this months, in its honour. Not sure if I'll manage two more chapters this week in addition to those I've been owing, but I'll try.

I'd also originally planned to put up some ladies-centered side stories (well, side one-shots mostly) to The Nolde this month, but...we will see how I'll be doing time wise.

Have a great month!


	31. Unhoped For

**Chapter 31: Unhoped For**

 _Year 511 of the Sun, the Mouths of Sirion_

As years in the Mouths of Sirion passed, gradually, news of a rumour about her reached Galadriel's ears, a rumour that reminded her of her early days in Doriath and the whispers brought to her through Lady Ernil, for now, once again, Celeborn learned of them through his grandmother. He came to Galadriel with a serious expression and said: "I fear Oropher's mind hasn't survived the shock of his wife's death intact."

"What are you saying? He's devastated, yes, but-"

"He spreads lies about you. My grandmother warned me."

"What kind of lies?"

"Of the foulest kind." He paused. "He blames you for his wife's and mother's death, as well as Nimloth's and...the rest."

 _So they have found someone new to blame for their suffering, beside Túrin._ It was not perhaps surprising that as soon as Oropher was well enough to do such a thing, he offered his own explanation, one that agreed with his personal dislike. "Blames me...how, exactly?" Galadriel asked cautiously. Being blamed for death was not new to her – and she blamed herself first of all, and always would, for some of those who died in the Ice, and for many others as well – but if Celeborn said they were lies… "Surely all know it was the sons of Feanor who killed them? Does he claim that I let them in?"

"No. He claims you could have saved our kin. Also...he's using your ancestry against you, once again," Celeborn added, confirming that he, too, was thinking about the past. "He says that you only ran away with Elwing because you wanted to have the Silmaril. He says you only care for jewels and riches, as do all Noldor. He uses the jewels you brought with you from Nargothrond and then from Doriath as a proof."

There was a long silence. "Does anyone believe him?" Galadriel asked at length.

"From what I know...some do. Not all, but...those who...who are bitter because of their losses in Doriath, and search for someone close at hand to blame. Amdír is chiefest among those." That hurt. For all Galadriel knew they were close and he might be influenced by Oropher, she had not expected this. Celeborn saw the pain in her mind, and added: "He might not believe all of it, but he blames you to a degree, that's certain. And as I said, it isn't that all of the Doriath survivors think this, but it's...it's my own family, my love. You can't imagine how it pains me that you have had nothing but enmity from them from the beginning, while yours has always treated me well. And they call the Noldor proud!"

Galadriel pressed his hands. "I understand your pain, but Oropher and Amdír are only two relations of yours. Doroneth was my friend, if perhaps not an intimate one. So was Nimloth. And even now, I don't think Midhel believes these rumours, and Lady Ernil, if I understand you right, even warned you about it."

"Yes. I think many of the...well, wider family that is left...are embarrassed and feeling sorry for Oropher. Many things are forgiven to the recently widowed."

"Yes, and so I'd forgive them too. Oropher's words can't hurt me, and he's in pain. But there _are_ others I'm worried about. I must speak with Artanáro."

"Of course."

She found her great-nephew on the beach. "I need to talk to you, urgently and privately."

Nodding, he walked with her along the shore. "What is it?" He asked.

"Celeborn told me about certain rumours that have come to his attention."

Hearing the story, Artanáro was horrified. "I will speak with Thranduil, and entreat him to speak with Amroth too, for they are friends. I have no intention of turning them against their fathers, but I do hope I can help to shield their minds against the poison."

Galadriel thanked him and walked back into town in a thoughtful frame of mind.

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Rumours driven by bitterness were not her only source of worry either. Elwing was growing as quickly as Dior had been.

Galadriel had been all but certain that it would be so, of course, after seeing her brothers, but they had still been young enough to have some remaining doubts. Elwing was eight years old now, however, and was big enough and clever enough that there was no denying she would be almost an adult once her age doubled.

Galadriel understood, now, why Beren and Lúthien did not take greater care to educate Dior in matters of wisdom.

With the speed these children were growing, it was almost impossible. There was simply not enough time to teach them anything, not when one was ruling a city at the same time.

Lady Ernil helped as much as she could, but the wounds on her soul made it hard for her to be as active as she used to be, and she had other kin to care for. Elwing became Galadriel's daughter in all but a name, as she had only vague memories of her own parents.

Galadriel, however, remembered them, and as Elwing grew, started to see traces of them in her character as clearly as she saw Irissë's form in her face. Elwing had some of Nimloth's quiet curiosity, but also Dior's moodiness, and the latter was strengthened by the gift – or was it a curse? - of foresight she must have received from her Maian great-grandmother. It was difficult for a child to cope with, these vague glimpses from the future, and it was one of the reasons why Galadriel took it upon herself as a special task to raise the little princess.

She remembered others of the hosts of the beloved she had lost, too. She often though of Melian's wisdom and calming presence, of Lúthien's joy in the world around her, before it was marred by her suffering, of Ñolofinwë's advices and long talks with Findekáno and even arguments with Ingoldo. Most of all, however, she thought of Itarillë, and so she believed at first she was going insane from all the longing when she saw her friend again.

A messenger came, announcing that refugees had been found along the banks of Sirion and were being taken to the city, so she went to the river to welcome them and see where they came from and what news they brought. From the first boat that touched the pier, a tall figure in a grey cloak disembarked and stood there for a moment, looking at her intently, before the put down her hood.

For a beat, Galadriel stood without movement, and incredulous, and then she ran to the figure and embraced her with all the strength of love she had. The figure was Itarillë.

Galadriel had not hoped that she could encounter such joy in Middle-Earth again, not unless the Valar had mercy on them all and rode out against Moricotto. She wept on her dearest friend's shoulder, tears of pure happiness, and all around them watched.

It was a long while before they let go of each other, and Itarillë, extending her hand towards the boat, said: "Allow me to introduce my husband, and my son."

Two more cloaked figures stepped onto the pier. The taller one removed its hood, and Galadriel to her amazement saw that he was Second-born.

She turned her eyes to Itarillë, full of question, and her friend replied: "This is Tuor, son of Huor of the House of Hador."

Túrin's cousin. Suspicion immediately entered Galadriel's mind, but she felt no darkness in this Man, and so for the sake of Itarillë, she put her prejudice aside as her friend turned to her husband and said with a smile: "And allow me to introduce to you my first cousin once removed, and dearest friend, Princes _s_ Artanis Nerwen, wife of Lord Celeborn of Doriath that was and daughter of King Arafinwë,High King of the Noldor beyond the Sea."

Galadriel's eyes welled with tears again at this introduction, these titles that she had not heard for a long time, and she smiled at the memory, for Itarillë mirrored exactly the words by which she had introduced her, those years ago, to Celeborn. It seemed out of place here, in her new, modest home, instead of in the rich private dining room of her own house. "And now, apparently, the ruler of the Mouth of Sirion," Itarillë added.

"Along with Celeborn and Artanáro at least," Galadriel explained, "and I am sure they will be here soon to welcome you too. Although you do not know Artanáro, of course," she added, realizing again how long indeed was the time for which they had not seen each other.

"Artanáro is your son?" Itarillë asked, smiling.

"No. I have no children; Artanáro is my great-nephew, Artaresto's son." She noted Itarillë's surprise that she would be here with that particular relation's child, and sighed again. There was so much Itarillë did not know. "But you do have a son, you said, so let me see him." And she turned to the last figure on the pier.

The boy put down his hood and Galadriel saw that he was very beautiful, and seemed about as old as Elwing. "His name is Eärendil Ardamírë," Itarillë said, and added with a touch of pain in her voice, "he is eight years old."

Exactly like Elwing then. "We have a little princess here who will like to meet him, I believe," Galadriel said with a smile intended for the boy. Her thoughts were darker. It grieved her greatly that Itarillë should know Lúthien's wound too – and perhaps all of them. She feared the answer yet needed to know, but there was time for that. First, she had to make sure of the grief she knew in her heart must be behind their arrival. "Has the Hidden City fallen?"

"Yes," Tuor said, speaking for the first time, in a heavy voice of a slightly accented Quenya. "Ondolindë is no more."

 _And so the Enemy's final victory is approaching_ , Galadriel thought. Aloud, she said: "Then welcome here, refugees, and may you feel as welcome as we did when we came from the fall of Doriath, and may at least some of your grief be washed by Ulmo's waters and by the sound of the Sea."

Celeborn arrived, and joined in their welcome and began arranging everything about places for them to stay. Sending him a grateful look, she took Itarillë by the arm and said: "Come with me. He will take care of everything, and I much desire to speak with you."

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"They are all dead, Nerwen."

It was later, they were seated in Galadriel's rooms, and Itarillë was telling her of the fall of Ondolindë. She had sang it in a song, first, a long lay Galadriel could sense she had composed on their long way south, when they rested under the open skies, afraid the Enemy would find them and attack at any moment. That pressing fear was as much part of that story as the longing and grief. But now the song was over, and Itarillë was speaking in plain words.

"My father and Laurefindil and Ehtelion and...everyone. All of them. The city was destroyed."

"How did the enemy find you?"

Itarillë hesitated. "I was not sure if I should include this in the Lay...Do you know what happened to my aunt?"

"I know – or believe – that she married Eol the Dark Elf and had a son, but later she ran from him and he pursued her and killed her. I do not know how or why this marriage came about, and it has been puzzling me for a long time."

Itarillë sighed. "You are mostly correct in your belief. Eol tried to kill his son, in truth, but Irissë jumped in the way of his spear."

Galadriel was horrified. In spite of all the cruelty Curufinwë had displayed towards Midhel, she knew he would have never tried to hurt his son, not intentionally. And she had thought there could be no one more fell...

Itarillë continued: "As for the origins of her marriage, she died much too soon for us to truly know, but we believe it was brought on by the spells of Eol."

Galadriel looked at her incredulously. "Some dark elf managed to overpower with his spells the daughter of Ñolofinwë? Forgive me, but I have trouble believing that. You know we were never friends, but if your aunt was not something, she was not weak, or pliable."

Itarillë sighed. "I have often wondered about that," she admitted. "I think she was curious, and so opened herself to him. You know how she was – she would never turn back when she sensed danger."

That was true enough, and Galadriel nodded to Itarillë to continue.

"She ran away from Eol only when her son, Lómion, asked her for it. They came to Ondolindë, but Eol followed them and was brought in – and oh, how bitterly that was regretted later. Father gave him a choice between staying and dying, since he did not allow those who knew the way into Ondolindë to leave again...and he said he chose death, and for his son, too. You know the rest." She closed her eyes. "I think my father never before or after regretted so bitterly that we closed ourselves off from anyone. The spear was poisoned, but none of our healers were good enough to recognize it. If we could have but consulted with you, it is likely that my aunt would have been alive now. As it was, she died and Eol was thrown down from the city walls." She exhaled. "I have never been so sorry for not being a better student of yours, either."

Galadriel shook her head. "Healing was never your passion, forcing yourself into it would have done you no good."

"Yes, but then, it had not been your passion either, had it?"

"Not quite, but I have always wanted to rule my own realm and take care of the people there. I was able to see healing as an extension of that, the same as learning military strategy and basics of economy. That gave me the will to learn. I know you have never desired that."

"Hardly something to boast of, having no desire to care for my people as the king's daughter."

Galadriel pressed her hand. "Do not do this to yourself, beloved. Rather, continue. You still have not told me how the Enemy found you."

"It was Lómion. He...I was suspicious of him from the start. He said he loved me, but I believe it was the same dark thing that his father had felt for his mother. He hated Tuor after he came, and desired me. He was caught by the Enemy when he broke the law and crossed our borders, and told him how to get to Ondolindë." She paused. "He tried to keep us, me and Ardamírë, when we were running. Tuor killed him."

Galadriel embraced her for a moment. "How did the secret way out of the city came to be, the one you mentioned in the Lay?" She asked then.

Itarillë sighed. "Soon after Lómion came, I had people construct it. I have foresight too, though not as strong as you, and I knew that with him, danger had arrived."

Galadriel smiled. "Do you see? You did extremely well," she said. "All that were saved were saved thanks to you."

"You taught me well," Itarillë replied, smiling sadly in return. "But we still would not have survived if it had not been for Laurefindil. He was a steady pillar of support to me during my years in Ondolindë, and we often remembered you together. Except for you, I could never ask for a better friend. He swore he would protect me and my family, and he did. That part is not in the Lay yet, but he defended us when we were leaving with the refugees. A balrog attacked us, and he fought him, and they both died. Then we would have been slain by the orcs that followed the fiery monster, but the King of Eagles and his subjects rescued us this time."

"The eagles..." Galadriel's mind wandered to those sweet days in Hithlum, in the beginning. "They have always been loyal to the house of Ñolofinwë, have they not?"

"Yes, for we love them dearly. Do you know that the King brought grandfather's body to us, from Angamando? We owe him so much. I said I would miss him when we were leaving, and he promised he would come to see me, even here in the south and far from the mountains. So perhaps I can introduce you."

Galadriel smiled. She never had the easy friendship with eagles that many of those most beloved by her did, but perhaps that would change now. So many things have changed… "And Tuor?" She asked. "How did you meet, when I was not allowed into Ondolindë for the whole of its existence? How come he could enter?"

"He brought us a warning directly from Lord Ulmo, to leave our city. A warning my father chose to ignore."

"So there were two such fools..."

Itarillë looked at her, confused. "We were given the warning, too," Galadriel explained. "Túrin, your husband's cousin, made sure we did not heed it. I see we were not the only ones."

"But what was a Man doing in Doriath, and having so much influence?"

"Not Doriath, Narogrotto. It is a long story, one I will tell later. Though Doriath had had a warning too, and paid no mind to it either. But I would not have expected Turukáno of all people to be foolish in this way."

"His years in Ondolindë changed my father. He grew more arrogant."

Galadriel thought of Singollo again. The parallels were really striking, even though she had not known Singollo before he ruled Doriath. She had heard some things from Lord Ciryatan and her grandfather-in-law, and it seemed that the two kings had had so very much in common.

It was clear that this change she had watched in her father pained Itarillë. It was hard knowing that his downfall had been almost entirely his fault, Galadriel understood.

"Anyway," Itarillë continued, wishing to turn her mind from that painful subject, "Tuor came, and I grew to love him soon enough. My father loved him too, so he did not object."

"In this, then, you were blessed. Has the story of Lúthien reached you?"

"Yes. We have heard it, and my father talked to me about it when I told him of my love for Tuor. 'You need not fear,' he had said, 'that I would ever do to you what Elwë did to his daughter. I do not understand how any parent can.'"

And just like that, Galadriel was ashamed of herself once more, for comparing her cousin to Singollo. They had some traits in common, yes, but there was a world of difference between them. "In this your story is very different from Lúthien's," she agreed, and steeled herself for the next question. "But what of your fate? Will you choose to follow Tuor into death, like she had with Beren?"

"I have not been presented with that choice," Itarillë replied. "But if I had, I would have rejected it. I love Tuor dearly, but I love you as well, and my father, and Uncle Findekáno and grandfather and my mother and the friends I left in Aman...I know they long to see me again. No, I hope to sail West one day...with Tuor."

At Galadriel's surprised look, she elaborated. "My Sight tells me that I will sail, though I do not know when, and that I will go with him; and he feels the pull of the sea. Lord Ulmo spoke to him in person, so surely it is not that much to hope that he might be accepted in Aman?"

"His would be a special grace indeed," Galadriel said, in wonder, "but I trust Lord Ulmo, and I trust your Sight."

"You are one of the few who do, then," Itarillë muttered.

"Oh, beloved. We all know this pain. You have to meet Elwing – she is only a little girl and is plagued by visions already. I have been doing my best to help her, but I will be happy to have another who knows what it is like. And your son, too, could be the perfect companion for her." They would age at the same speed.

Itarillë laughed. "I will be happy to meet her, but I do not even know who she is! You have to tell me your story now."

And so Galadriel did. Itarillë listened and pressed her hands and embraced her many times, and when Galadriel finished, gave a deep sigh. "I am so sorry," she said. "I at least have been mostly content in Ondolindë for all these years."

Galadriel smiled sadly. "I have been content for a long while as well – a century and half at least. The tragedies came only after that, Ohtarwen's death and Irissë's...but even then...I believe the truly darker times came only when your grandfather started to insist on an attack on Agamando. Dark premonitions weighted on me...and then, of course, they started to come true."

Itarillë closed her eyes and nodded. "It had been so painful," she said, "simply sitting there and doing nothing, even though we knew our kin was dying around us. That was why I convinced Father to let our armies march into the last battle – I could not go through that again." She smiled self-deprecatingly. "Not that it did much good."

"That was hardly your fault," Galadriel pointed out, silently adding _it was mine_. "And Findekáno at least met his brother once more before the end. I truly believe he was grateful for that."

"Did you...could you feel him, when he died? I was cut away from everything in the city."

"Yes." She sighed sadly in memory. "He told me to stay alive...and so I did, though sometimes I feel like it was too much to ask."

Itarillë embraced her again, and Galadriel said: "It is better now. I have you." _For now_ , she added silently.

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Directly after her talk with Itarillë, Galadriel went to see Artanáro. "You are the High King now," she said without preamble.

"I should not be," he replied, looking out of the window of the so-called palace – the house had only three floors, and only a few rooms in each. It was much smaller than her house in Hithlum had been. "The title should go to Princess Itarillë, or to her son at least."

"It should," Galadriel agreed. "But it does not. You do not intend to reject it, do you?"

He hesitated. "No," he said at length. "Though it seems foolish to call myself the High King when all I can rule over is this little bit of land."

She smiled bitterly. "And the sons of Fëanáro, too," she added. "Do not forget them."

"If there ever was time that they were all ruled by something but their Oath, it is gone now," he replied. "But still...you always told me, ever since I was little, that if I stayed my course I would be a good ruler. I suppose I feel the need to try."

"You already have tried, in Tol Sirion and later in Narogrotto, and you were good at governance, given the limited powers you had. And there is no need to pretend humbleness in front of me, beloved. You know I know you too well for that. I was drawn to you, even when you were a child, because I felt a kindred spirit in you. You want to be king."

"Yes," he admitted, "but so do you, for all the good it has ever done to you. I might want it, but it does not make me not see all those who have better right to it, like Princess Itarillë or young Prince Eärendil or you."

"Well, if it makes you feel better, Itarillë has no desire to rule and Eärendil is eight."

"And you?"

She smiled, a little sadly, a little bitterly. "I am used to disappointments."

He thought for another moment. "Itarillë has no desire to rule?" He asked. "I have been considering making her the Lady of the Mouths of Sirion, at least. I know it is not much of a title, but it is the only one I can give – a strange thought, that, that I can grant titles – and it seems fair to me to give her something at least, if I am robbing her of the kingship."

Galadriel considered this. "It is a good plan," she said then. "If she does not wish to, she really will not need to do anything – you can take care of it all, and yet it gives her a title to pass to her son. Yes, I approve."

"I hope you do not feel...slighted, that I did not offer it to you. I have very little to give, as you know. There is the position of my chief councillor, but I am not sure if I would not give offence by it, given our situation..."

She smiled at him. "No," she said. "I think I would like being your chief councillor, if you can accept that I will not always show the proper respect to my king."

Finally, he turned to her. "Please," he said, and he sounded a little desperate. "Do not act differently towards me than you had before. From anyone else, I can take it, but not from you."

Her smile brightened. "Well, you are in luck," she said. "I never was in much of a habit of giving respect to the High Kings." She paused for a moment, as she went in her mind through all of those she had know. "Well, that is not entirely true, I suppose. Ingwë, High King of the Eldar, never got anything but respect from me. But I had little of it for Finwë or Singollo, grandfather Olwë seemed too weak to me then, and Ñolofinwë and Findekáno were both too close friends of mine. So your chances are good."

He took her hands. "Being a close friend of yours," he said, "will always be more valuable to me than any kingship."

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"Aunt Galadriel," Elwing asked her one day, about a year after Itarillë's arrival to the Mouths of Sirion, which were now renamed New Havens by her, "why does Uncle Oropher always leave the room when you come in?"

Galadriel heaved a deep sigh. She had hoped Elwing would not notice, but it had been a vain hope. And she did want the girl to be strong and wise… "Your uncle doesn't like me," she replied.

"But why doesn't he like you? I like you! You're my favourite person...maybe after Mîr, because Mîr is great."

Galadriel smiled in spite of herself. "Thank you, and I'm sure Mîr n'Ardhon would be very grateful too. But opinions on such things can differ."

Elwing frowned. "That's still no reason to walk off like that, is it? I mean, I don't like Laerwen either, and I don't walk away every time I see her. I'm sure you'd scold me and tell me I was being rude."

"And you're perfectly right. Why don't you like Laerwen?"

"Because she always wants to stay with Mîr and never leaves us alone." Galadriel smiled again, at that. Laerwen – or more properly Lírewen, but Elwing was slow to learn Quenya and did not like using it, in spite of it being her best friend's native tongue - was one of Itarillë's handmaidens, the one tasked with keeping watch on the young prince at all times. "But you haven't really answered my question. Why does he leave the room?"

"Your uncle is in pain. His wife and mother died when we were escaping from Doriath."

Elwing looked sad for a moment, but then she said: "But both of my parents died, and my brothers, too. And you'd still scold me. It's no excuse, is it? And I still don't know why he doesn't like you either. I told you why I don't like Laerwen, so tell me why my uncle doesn't like you."

Galadriel sighed. But Elwing was almost ten, and by human count, that was not so very little any more. "Your uncle thinks," she said heavily, "that I only saved you from Doriath because I wanted to have the Silmaril."

Elwing looked shocked. "But...but that's a terrible thing to say! And it's stupid, too, because you just keep it locked in a chest and only let me look at it when I beg a lot. Why would you want it so much and then keep it locked in a chest?"

"As I've said, beloved, your uncle's in pain. Don't blame him for this."

"But what if someone believes him?" Elwing seemed truly worried.

"Calm down. Most don't."

"Still, I'd very much like to convince everyone it's a lie." She frowned. "Can I go now? I want to speak with Mîr."

Galadriel let her, feeling there was some plot in the air.

She had been right, too. Elwing came back a day later, begging to be able to wear the Silmaril publicly. Galadriel was very much against the idea, but she did not want the girl herself starting to believe that her great-aunt wanted the jewel for herself, and so she assented, against her better judgement.

The dwarven necklace with the Silmaril on her throat, Elwing ran out of the house to the main square. Ardamírë was waiting for her, whispering something in her ear, and when Galadriel stepped out after her, Elwing suddenly called: "People of New Havens!"

Everyone present on the square turned, and they stared, transfixed, at the beauty that stood before them. All the attention clearly made Elwing a little nervous, and she needed some more support from Ardamírë before she could say: "I want you to see that I can wear the Silmaril freely, and that Lady Galadriel doesn't keep it from me." Ardamírë whispered some more, and Elwing vigorously nodded and said: "Also, I want you to know that she has my complete trust, and as a sign of that..." She paused, and Ardamírë stepped to her and took the dwarven necklace off. Elwing took it and finished: "...I want her to wear it!" And she approached the astonished Galadriel and stood on her toes to reach her neck and put the necklace on.

And all of New Havens gazed in wonder.

Galadriel herself was dazed for a while, but she regained her senses soon enough, and said: "Thank you, my princess, for such trust, but I can't fully accept the gift. Allow me to share it with you until such time as you reach adulthood and can rule your people in your own right."

Elwing beamed at her, apparently content with such solution, and Galadriel, who found herself unable to refuse outright, mentally shrugged. She was apparently entwined in the Silmaril's fate already anyway, so what difference did it make?

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AN: Eärendil Ardamírë is Eärendil's full name, and Mîr n'Ardhon is the Sindarin translation of his mother-name.

King of Eagles is Thorondor, of course.

And I fully admit that one of the main reasons I wrote this last scene was to have Galadriel wear the Nauglamír with the Silmaril, at least for a while. She might be resistant to that temptation, but I am not.


	32. Loneliness

**Chapter 32: Loneliness**

 _Year 523 of the Sun, New Havens_

Years passed, Tuor was slowly approaching old age, and Itarillë's eye was turning towards the West more and more often.

Galadriel had known for some time, but lately, there have been more hints appearing. And then, the confirmation.

First it was Elwing. She had less visions in the last years, her mind entirely occupied by the freshly discovered Flame she felt for Ardamírë, but still, one day when Galadriel came across them swimming in the sea together, Elwing pecked her love on the cheek and emerged from the waves to take Galadriel aside. "Lady Idril'll leave soon, won't she?"

"I fear so, yes," Galadriel replied, surprised, glancing up at the windows of Itarillë's house not far from them down the coast.

"I've had a vision," Elwing explained. "Of her and Lord Tuor sailing away together. I don't know exactly when it'll take place, but...well, I never get visions of a far future, do I?"

"No," Galadriel agreed. "Nor do I, usually."

Yet still she clung to hope, but the final confirmation came only a few weeks later, when Itarillë presented to her a new song she had composed. She seemed hesitant for some reason.

"What is it?" Galadriel asked. "You know I always admire your work."

"I fear you might not...admire this one, so much."

"Nonsense. You are extremely talented, and you know I used to have Lady Elemmírë sing me to sleep on occasion when I was little, not to mention I spent years in Doriath listening to Daeron, so I do not say so in vain."

Itarillë smiled a little wanly. "Lady Elemmírë, yes...I think about her often lately." But then she shook her head and started to sing.

"Sindarin?" Galadriel asked, surprised, interrupting Itarillë after the first word. "You compose in Sindarin now?"

"Not usually, but this one came to me in that language. It is very much a Middle-Earth poem, so perhaps that is the reason, though it is not one that would be understood by the Sindar."

Galadriel nodded, and Itarillë began to sing again:

"Snow-white! Snow-white! O Lady clear!

O Queen beyond the Western Seas!

O Light to us that wander here

Amid the world of woven trees!"

Her voice was filled with emotion, and her eyes were unfocused, looking out of the window and towards the West. And still she sang:

"Gilthoniel! O Elbereth!

Clear are thy eyes and bright thy breath!

Snow-white! Snow-white! We sing to thee

In a far land beyond the Sea."

Now Itarillë rose from her chair and headed to the balcony, her eyes never leaving the horizon, where the sun was just setting.

"O stars that in the Sunless Year

With shining hand by her were sown,

In windy fields now bright and clear

We see your silver blossom blown!"

The singer stood at the railing, now, and Galadriel followed her, to stand next to her and watch Itarillë's eyes, wet with tears of grief and longing.

"O Elbereth! Gilthoniel!

We still remember, we who dwell

In this far land beneath the trees,

Thy starlight on the Western Seas."

The song went on, and as Galadriel listened to it she remember that time centuries ago when she took Itarillë with her to visit Taniquetil, and see the Queen in her own realm, on her throne, to see the light that was brighter than even that of the Trees. Itarillë admired the Queen of All as much as Galadriel herself did, she knew, but still, they spoke of the Valar rarely enough in Middle-Earth, let alone sang – the pain of separation was too great, and songs could deepen it like nothing else could. Hearing this hymn, the longing there expressed so raw, Galadriel knew with absolute certainty that Itarillë would leave very soon.

The grief she had been attempting to keep at bay for some years now was threatening to explode, and she quickly excused herself and found refuge in loneliness, where she cried and allowed herself to be flooded by her pain for a time. It seemed too cruel, to be deprived of her dearest friend so short a time after she regained her, and yet even when her pain was at its worst, she did not take back what she had said in that prayer those decades ago. "I stand by my words, Lords of the West," she said, looking at the night skies from the balcony she exiled herself to, to the line of the horizon. "My only wish is that she does not die. I said that I do not insist on seeing her again on this shore, and that I was allowed to was an unexpected mercy. I am not going to regret it, and I only wish to reiterate my prayer: do not let her die."

And, as it had once before, Eksilita seemed to shine more brightly in response to her prayer.

The following day, Galadriel went in search of her friend. "I apologize for my abrupt departure yesterday," she said, "but I expect you know its cause."

"Yes, and believe me, I am sorry too. Painfully sorry." She paused. "Words are so meaningless, are they not?"

"Yes. Those few hundred years without you were difficult enough, I cannot imagine what might well be thousands, or tens of thousands."

"And yet you do understand I have no other choice, do you not?"

"I do. And I sense strong fear in you, in spite of what you had said about your visions, and I want to give you some hope – I have prayed for you, Itarillë, I have asked for your life to be spared, before and again now, and I have reason to believe that Queen Varda has heard my prayer. Perhaps she has heard your song as well. If I have any knowledge of the Valar at all, they will not slay you."

Itarillë embraced her, and Galadriel could see the tears in her eyes. "You have always been such a dear friend to me," she said. "How can I ever repay you?"

"By keeping my parents company, if you get there, and telling them news from me and giving them my regards. Our Vanyar relations, too." She smiled sadly. "My great-aunt, and Lady Elemmírë."

"I will, of course I will...if I truly reach the West." She hesitated. "We both believe so strongly we can...The Valar would not set up a trap for us, would they?"

"No. Trust them, and trust my prayer. But as I have told you, your blessing is a special one indeed."

"It is." Itarillë paused. "Are you angry that Lúthien and Beren did not receive such opportunity, and we did?"

"No. Lúthien was...she was always very out of this world, and I do not think it would have been much better in Aman. She did not seem to mind dying at all, as long as she was with Beren. The one I was the most sorry for was Lady Melian, once she realized. I have never seen such pain in anyone."

"And yet hers might be smaller than Singollo's, if what you have told me is true."

"You mean about her seeing time differently? It is true, and it will pass more easily for her than for him, but till the end of the world is a long time even for a Maia. But you are right that I would feel more sorry for him than for her, if he had not brought it on by his actions." She sighed. "Sometimes," she said, "I thought him worse than Fëanáro."

"Do not say that!"

"I know kinslaying was a terrible crime, but at least he was sane enough not to hurt his own children, Itarillë! Is it not a mark of all-consuming darkness when you do that?"

Itarillë slowly nodded. "It is true," she said, "that I cannot imagine hurting Ardamírë in any way." She smirked. "Not even if he decided to marry an orc!"

Galadriel laughed in response. "Well, fortunately, there is no danger of that – or should I be offended on Elwing's behalf?"

Itarillë laughed, too. "No," she said. "I am very happy for them, and in fact, knowing they have each other calms me, for..." She sighed. "For I believe, Nerwen, that once they are married, we will leave."

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With their time marked short with such finality, Galadriel spent even more time with Itarillë than before. She sang the songs that her friend composed, they walked together along the seashore, they talked about the past and the family they lost, and about the present and the new friends they had.

Itarillë had met Artanáro, Tyelperinquar and Midhel, and liked them all. She had much respect for Lady Ernil, too, and regretted that Ambë was not in the Havens. Messengers from Balar came often, just as Artanáro often travelled there, but Findekáno's love was never among them. The regret over that failed hope was a topic Galadriel and Itarillë often returned to.

The older lady, for her part, had got to know Tuor well, and she had met Quendingoldo – a friend of Itarillë's and a loremaster from the Hidden City who constantly questioned her about details of the Fall of Doriath to be able to write about it in his books. His ceaseless questions were often a matter of complaint between the two friends.

"He keeps asking me about the Elfstone," Itarillë said, "how it was made. As if I ever knew anything about craft! I can compose a song that will describe it so vividly that it will rise before your eyes when you hear it, but I certainly have no idea how it was actually made! Father bought it from Enerdhil, I believe, and gave it to me for my begetting day."

"We could lend it to Tyelperinquar to examine," Galadriel suggested. "There is not a thing he does not know about craft, I am certain he would be able to tell us."

"Well, I intend to give it to Ardamírë's on his wedding day, so that he does not look quite so much as a poor relation next to Elwing's dwarven necklace and Silmaril – though it is hard to top that, and I am not going to imitate Lúthien in this as well just to try to do so -" In spite of herself, Galadriel laughed and shook her head, and Itarillë continued, "so I would rather not hand it over for examination in case something happened to it, but next time Quendingoldo bothers me about it, I will suggest he asks my son for this analysis to be made!"

"No doubt Ardamírë will agree, if only to be spared more questions," Galadriel said with another laugh, tilting her hair back in the breeze coming from the sea.

That was how she notices the King of Eagles as he came to deliver on his promise.

Galadriel had only met him from this close once, when he had brought Findekáno and Maitimo from Thangorodrim, but then, she had been too preoccupied by the state of her cousins to pay any attention to the majestic eagle. Now she watched him soar above New Havens, his wings casting a shadow over the sun several times before he landed on the roof of Itarillë's house. It was the tallest building in New Havens, along with the palace, and stood upon the only small piece of cliff to be found there. In the absence of any mountains nearby, it was probably the best place for him.

Itarillë stepped out on the balcony and tilted her head back to see the King of Eagles properly. "Hello, my friend," she said. "I see you have not forgotten me."

"No," the eagle replied, his voice a strange sound, deep but sharp at the same time.

"I am grateful. But you took your time to come, and now, I fear it is for me to say goodbye."

"That is why I came."

Itarillë smiled. "Of course. I should have known. In any case, I have one more request of you. We will leave a son behind. I will trust him into Nerwen's care, naturally, but still, I ask for you protection for him."

"He is of Ñolofinwë's line. There had never been any doubt of it, and no need to ask. He and all his descendants will be protected by us."

Itarillë's smile brightened. "Indeed? Then I will transfer my request of a favour: Nerwen is my friend, my dearest friend, and I will leave her here as well. Do you think you could treat her as if she was of our family too? Valar know she has been close enough to many of us."

The King turned his eyes directly to Galadriel for the first time, and looked at her intently for a moment. "Yes," He said then. "It will take time, but your friend will live by the mountains again one day, and then me and my people will be close by, ready to help."

"Thank you," Itarillë replied with a bright smile, and the King of Eagles soared again and flew away.

"He was...interesting," Galadriel observed.

"You have truly never spoken to him before?"

"No."

"How strange..."

"Not so strange. Your grandfather was a friend of Manwë's eagles even in Aman, and there, he never took anyone beside you uncle with him to see them. I think he did not wish to presume. He certainly apologized for not taking me many times. But this friendship is old, and inherited. Your family's relationship with the Elder King's messengers is rather above standard. However, you gave me an idea...come."

She took Itarillë and, sending word by one of the servants that they will be away for some days, led her down and to the river, where they boarded a boat and rowed upstream, until they reached the Land of the Willows. There, she sent her mind out and called as they disembarked, and soon enough, she heard the answer.

"What are we doing here?" Itarillë asked her. "Not that I do not enjoy a few days on a boat with you, but..."

Galadriel smiled. "Have patience," she said, and they sang and talked and soon enough, her intended guest arrived.

Itarillë's eyes widened in wonder. "Shepherds of the Trees?" She muttered.

"Yes," Galadriel replied. "I have special friends too, you see?" She turned to Treebeard. "Good afternoon."

"Good afternoon, Artanis Nerwen Galadriel, my lady."

"Why do you call me lady now, when you never had before?" She asked curiously.

"Because even though you weren't so very young in years, your mind seemed young to me. But no more."

These words brought forth the pain Galadriel always felt these days, and it took her a moment to push it back down and say: "I brought my dear friend with me, to introduce you. This is Idril, Lady of New Havens and my cousin, daughter of late King Turgon."

"Mountainfolk they are, aren't they? They lived away from the forests. I can sense it. There are no trees in her."

"It's true," Itarillë assented. "And even in Aman, I didn't have the admiration _Nerwen_ did for the tall trees of Lórien. I preferred the rose fields."

"Hmmm. You should meet the entwives, then. You'd like them better."

"And where can I find them?"

"Ah, they passed east already, all of them. There is nothing left for them here, not in the lands overcome by darkness."

"Then I won't meet them," Itarillë returned, "for I'll abandon these lands soon as well, but I will go West."

"West! Then give my greetings to Lady Yavanna, as you call her, the one who called us here to protect that what she loved. Tell her we're still doing our duty."

Itarillë smiled. "I will," she said. "But I'm sure she knows this well."

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Watching the indescribable beauty of Elwing glowing with love and the light from the Silmaril on her neck, and approaching Ardamírë, whose brow shone with Itarillë's wondrous Elfstone, Galadriel thought of all the weddings in her family she had witnessed.

She remembered Ardamírë's grandparents, all those years ago in Aman, and her reservations about the match – reservations that proved to be completely unjustified. Who knows what the fates of Middle-Earth could have been had Elenwë not died in the Ice? In all likelihood, Turukáno would not have locked himself away in his Hidden City and everything would have been very different.

She remembered Macalaurë's and Carnistir's weddings, too, back in those times when the sons of Fëanáro had not been bound by a terrible oath yet, and so still able to feel the Flame, and there had been no blood on their hands.

She remembered Angaráto's engagement, his quiet complacence and placid smile as he went along with Eldalótë's wishes and his bone-deep happiness when the day finally arrived and he said the vows to his wife, and Eldalótë's more overflowing one, the kind of happiness that manifested in her cheerfully chatting to all around and dancing into the small hours of the morning, when she finally took notice of Angaráto's deep desire and left with him.

She remembered her own wedding, too, the complete happiness she had felt in that moment, even though she knew she would leave a lot behind when she moved to Doriath. She thought of Artaresto and the wife he lost, though they were hopefully together again now. She thought of Doroneth and Galathil, of Beren and Lúthien, and of Nimloth and Dior. The last was perhaps the most similar to the wedding taking place now, also very modest, even though there were certainly more attending guests this time – indeed, almost all came to witness the marriage of those whom they regarded as their prince and princess.

The two young people reached each other, and Galadriel took Elwing's hand and put it into Ardamírë's, held by Tuor. The newly crated couple smiled at each other and recited their vows, the crowd listening in sacred silence. Then Artanáro pronounced them to be husband and wife, and they turned, and Elwing smiled sweetly and said: "Let us dance!"

And they did. Many guests came for the wedding from Balar, including Lord Ciryatan with a group of kin, advisers and friends. Galadriel could not miss that dance, no matter how much the knowledge of Itarillë's imminent departure weighted on her mind. "I see you brought Arminas in your retinue, my lord," she said as she led him to the dance floor. "I never knew him very well. Is he a good advisor?"

Lord Ciryatan took his time to reply. "Yes," he said at length, "I value his opinion very highly, and consider him close to me, besides."

"Indeed? Then I'm very happy he found such a good home at Balar. There are relatively few Noldor there, from what I know."

"Yes. He's...quite become one of the Sindar, I fear."

"That can he a very good thing," Galadriel replied with a smile. "As I said, I'm simply thankful for one of my brother's people having such a warm welcome. I believe he's quite alone, is he not? His parents or siblings didn't survive, and he's unmarried – or has he found someone at Balar?"

After another pause, Lord Ciryatan said: "He isn't married, no."

Galadriel felt the Sindarin lord was not in a mood for conversation on this day, in spite of the joyous atmosphere all around them. But perhaps it was only her own grief at the approaching departure of Itarillë spilling over.

Indeed, Galadriel, though happy for the new couple, could not resist long before seeking out her dearest friend. Itarillë wore the same bittersweet smile Galadriel knew could be found on her face. "Sometimes," she admitted, "I wonder if I am doing the right thing."

"He is your husband," Galadriel replied. "Of course you are doing the right thing. And your father and mother await you there, as well as many other relations and friends. You will be glad to see Lords Laurefindil and Ehtelion again, will you not?"

"Not more glad than sorry that I left you, I fear," she replied.

"The Valar appear to be giving you a precious gift, beloved, do not even consider wasting it. I have managed without you all these years, and I will continue to manage."

Itarillë gave her a look that was almost amused. "If you wanted this to sound convincing, you should have shielded your mind better," she replied.

Galadriel raised her eyebrows. "It was no falsehood," she remarked.

"No, but you left out all the pain."

"I did. It is your son's wedding. What use is there in speaking of it now? There will be time enough for that when we say our farewells."

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That time came much sooner than she would have wished. Itarillë and Tuor only gave their son a few months to settle into his married life before they announced their imminent departure. Ardamírë was saddened, but he did not truly have the concept of ages of the world without them – he was still so young – and so bore the parting much better than Galadriel did.

The hour of departure was so heavy for her she almost lost control of herself, clinging to her friend. "The last time we parted," she said, "I was sorry I had not known it would be for such a long time, but now I believe it might have been better."

"For you, yes; but the knowledge that you were unaware tore me apart."

"In that case, I am happy I know this time. I would do anything in my power to spare you any pain, beloved, I hope you know this."

"I do, and it fills me with constant guilt."

"Because you feel you cannot quite say the same?" Galadriel smiled. "I am older, Itarillë, and even though that has hardly played a part for many years now, I do remember you as a baby. It is bound to make me a little more protective."

"At this point," Itarillë replied, "you remember most elves of Middle-Earth as babies. That must do terrible things to your tendency to take responsibility for everyone!"

"I promise to take as much responsibility for your son as I can, in any case," Galadriel returned.

"Please do, and thank you. It seems so unfeeling to leave him here, and yet..."

"And yet he is an adult, as strange as it seems to us."

"And the invitation to the West does not seem to include him, if I understand the Valar right, otherwise I would take him with me, adult or no adult – and Elwing, too, of course."

"Now I hope I would have some say in it!" But she knew she would never protest – she would not keep Elwing from her love.

Itarillë turned to step aboard the ship, and Galadriel swallowed. "Give my warm regards to those across the sea, and express my hope of seeing them again one day, even if it is after the end of the world," she said.

Itarillë heard the pain in her voice and only pressed her hand in response.

And then she was aboard, and they exchanged one last look and then the ship left the pier, and Galadriel clung to Celeborn with all her strength.

It took her a moment to come to herself, but when she did, she pressed Celeborn's arm shortly in thanks and looked around, as if seeing the others present for the first time, as if she had not seen them properly since the day Itarillë announced she would be sailing soon. Elwing stood on one side of her, with Ardamírë, the new lord of New Havens. On the other side was Artanáro, with the simple crown Tyelperinquar had made for him on his head. The Noldorin lord was just next, and next to him stood Midhel, watching the departing ship with a look in her eyes that awoke Galadriel somewhat from her own grief and melancholy. She let go of Celeborn's arm and turned to the Sindarin lady. "What is it?" She asked quietly.

"I simply wish...I could go as well," Midhel replied.

"Truly? You...you wish you could leave?" Galadriel could not bear the thought of more of those close to her departing. _Have I not suffered enough loss already?_

"Come, my friend," Midhel muttered. "You know I clung to life for Celebrimbor, and now my pain isn't raw enough for me to fade, but it remains. I know that I could heal in the West, and my son is old enough to do without me, especially as he has support in you. Yes, I'd go in a heartbeat."

"I'd hoped you were healed," Galadriel admitted.

Midhel gave her an incredulous look. "Is there any healing in Middle-Earth for wounds of the soul?" She asked. "They grow less noticeable in time, yes, and perhaps even close but they're never truly gone, it's never as before, not as I know it could be in the West. Are _you_ healed, from the marks that the death of your loved ones left?"

"No," Galadriel conceded, knowing that her hope was vain and selfish.

"And you haven't gone through what I have, and yet expect me to be be?" Midhel asked pointedly.

"Forgive me. It was a fool's hope. But still...when I watch Idril's ship, my main wish isn't to depart West for ever. I long for it in some ways, and yet I'd still rather we could all live here, in happiness."

Midhel shook her head. "Perhaps what's been done to me is too different. You miss your loved ones, but if they returned to you, all would be well. But I...years – decades – of my life have been poisoned by it. Even if all of Doriath returned, I would still feel the wound. Gwindor, I know, understood me in this. I'll go on, as I must, for there is no ship to take me there, but I deeply long for the peace and true healing the West would provide."

She walked away, and Tyelperinquar only gave Galadriel one sad, resigned look before he followed. The Nolde watched Itarillë's ship until it disappeared beyond the horizon, and felt desperately alone once more.

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AN: Quendingoldo - Pengolodh

Also there's a short ficlet on my tumblr about how Galadriel felt about Pengolodh and his history, part of Legendarium Ladies April. barbarakaterina. tumblr post/142399052607

Oh and another thing, someone asked me in a guest review why I had Elisabeth I as the icon for this story and not movie!Galadriel. The answer is simple: I passionately hate the portrayal of Galadriel in the films, and think she has nothing to do with the golden queen I'm writing about.


	33. Wilderness

AN: So, this is the bonus chapter for Legendarium Ladies April! From next week on till the end of the month, updates should be twice a week.

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 **Chapter 33: Wilderness**

 _Year 534 of the Sun, New Havens_

"Aunt?" Ardamírë said hesitatingly, sicking his head in the doorway of Galadriel's chambers.

"Yes?" She asked, rising from her desk. "Do come in. I have just been going over some crops calculations for Artanáro, I will be glad for any disturbance."

He laughed, but then grew serious. "I am not certain that what I wish to discuss with you is so very cheerful."

"Come then and sit, and I will pour us some wine and we will talk."

She did as she said, and Ardamírë drank is silence for a while before abruptly declaring. "I wish to find the way my father found."

"To the West?" Galadriel assured herself.

"To the West."

She sighed. "Beloved...I understand your wish, and yet...your father felt the call as a special grace of the Valar. Do you feel the same?"

"No," he admitted. "But I think our need of the help of the Valar to be desperate – if they do not come, it is only a matter of time until we are destroyed – and if my parents were granted the way, then why not me?"

"Ways of the Valar are mysterious to me, and there is more than one decision I do not understand. And, while I believe it, remember that we do not know for sure if your parents are safely in the West. You have a wife and two sons barely out of their cradles. What will become of them if you should be struck down for your presumption?"

"Elwing can take care of herself," he insisted.

Galadriel would be amused, if the topic was not so serious. "I know that – I raised her. It is her broken heart I speak of, her and your sons'. Your parents waited until you reached adulthood and found love and support in Elwing before they left."

"But do we have that much time?"

"Do you see any signs of the Enemy closing up on us? Has Elwing perhaps Seen something?"

"No," he admitted, "but it must be any day now, these is nothing holding him back."

"And yet for over twenty years, the most we have had to fight were small, independent orc raids."

"That cannot last, surely you know that."

"I do, but what I do not know is that it will not last for another twenty years, or more. My advice is to wait. When your sons are grown, well then, take Elwing and go and pray."

Ardamírë nodded, but she knew it was a nod of acknowledgement, not agreement, and her heart grew heavy and her mind worried, and she was not surprised when, not long afterwards, Ardamírë announced he would be sailing.

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Galadriel had an acute sense of having lived through this already when the letter from the sons of Fëanáro reached New Havens.

A messenger brought it to her and she immediately found Artanáro and went with him to see Elwing. "We must give them the Silmaril," she said. "I don't wish for any more blood spilled."

"Neither do I, but I'm still reluctant to give up this memory of my parents' and grandparents," Elwing replied. "Let's wait until Mîr is back from his journey to make that decision. I need more time to decide, and I wish to consult him on this."

"Beloved," Galadriel said sharply, "there are three who have any claim on that jewel apart from the sons of Feanor, and they are all in this room. Rodnor and I on the dwarven necklace, and you on the Silmaril. It's our decision."

"And my sons'," Elwing said equally sharply, looking towards her little boys drawing at their small desk and whispering quietly. "It's their heritage, and as such, Mîr has a right to comment on it as well. Let's wait."

"We have to respond," Galadriel insisted. "Your father didn't, and many died."

"Let's ask for more time, then," Artanáro said, though his face was worried and Galadriel saw that he was as unhappy with the decision as she was. "We could write to them that we need Mîr n'Ardhon, as Lord of the Havens, to decide this."

Galadriel shook her head. "Maedhros'll never believe that I found it impossible to make a decision."

"Not of you," Artanáro agreed, "but he doesn't know Elwing, does he? If she signs the letter...he might."

And so, with a very heavy heart, that was agreed on. Galadriel looked at Elros and Elrond once again. She worried. She worried a lot, and decided that certain measures were to be taken just in case. She had no faith in the patience of the sons of Fëanáro. She did not wish to believe that they would do such a thing, that they would attack without a just cause under Maitimo's leadership, but ever since the fate of Eluréd and Elurín became known, she trusted nothing. And so she planned, and plotted, and organized and trained, and all the while prayed it would never be needed.

She was walking by the shore just beyond the edges of the town with Celeborn when she realized the New Havens were under attack.

Her reaction was immediate. "My love," she said, "take those who can't fight to Lord Círdan." Then she turned her mind to Artanáro, and sent the image they had agreed on, an image of a wall of shields. He was to organize the defence to cover the retreat and then follow Celeborn to the Isle of Balar. She hesitated for a moment and added a "Don't get killed," as strongly as she could. In his mind, he only nodded grimly.

Next her thoughts turned to Tyelperinquar. She sent him an image of seating Midhel onto a boat. He knew what that meant as well. His task was to see his mother into safety before joining the fight, to make sure she did not encounter Curufinwë.

Galadriel was tasked with ensuring Elwing's and the boys' safety before she helped to defend the city, and so she started to run, run as the battle was beginning around her, run even as she saw the first elves fall, as she saw the death and destruction emerging around her.

She found Elwing and her sons in their chambers on the top floor of their house The princess was looking out to the sea, the dwarven necklace around her neck. "You have to go now," Galadriel said quickly. "Take your sons and find Celeborn, he is organizing the retreat. You-"

But she stopped and turned around when the door to the room flew open.

The two eldest sons of Fëanáro were standing there.

 _Of course_ , she thought. _Macalaurë's capacity to hide whom he chose to,_ _used to get around the guards,_ _as in Thousand Caves._ She had expected this, but she had hoped it would take them more time.

For a moment, it was as if time stopped as she thought with terrible clarity, _Elwing could give them the Silmaril now and it would all be over_. But then, equally clearly, _But she will not_. And immediately after that, _I do not want her to. They do not deserve to have it, not after this_.

Without turning, Galadriel said to Elwing: "Go now. It's what's around your neck that they want. Without it, we'll be safe. I'll take care of your boys."

She could hear Elwing take one shaky breath, and then her footsteps headed to the balcony. The water was just deep enough here that the fall would be safe for one who could swim well – so for Elwing, but not for the twins. The eldest of the sons of Fëanáro moved to follow her, but Galadriel stepped in his way. "Has it come this far, cousin?" She asked. "Are you going to kill me?"

"You are keeping the Silmaril from us," he replied, not moving.

"I am not keeping anything. You sent your messenger, and we told you to wait till Eärendil returned because we will not make such a major decision without him. You chose to slaughter your own kin instead. Have you lost all sanity, Nelyafinwë?" He flinched at being called by his father-name by her, and she continued. "Like your father, spilling blood only because it seems to you that you would have to wait to reach your goal?"

"Eärendil does not have a say in what happens to the Silmaril."

"Elwing is his wife, and he is the grandson of the previous High King of Noldor, whose subjects you were too, by right. I know how your oath binds you, but it was just and reasonable to ask for you to wait for his return. I believe he would have heard your request, too, even though he would have despised the tone, as I have." She paused. "I admit my wisdom was faulty here. I did not believe you became as fell as you clearly became."

"Whatever our reasons, we are here now, and we demand the Silmaril."

"Demand what you want. As I said, if you want to go any further, you will have to kill me."

Nelyafinwë raised his sword. "Brother!" Macalaurë cried, horrified. Nelyafinwë raised it higher, looking Galadriel in the eye...and then put it back down.

"Could I even do it?" He asked. "I mean, if I had the will, would I be strong enough to hurt you?"

"I do not know," Galadriel returned. "I used to believe you would, but turning from the light makes our power fail, as you know."

They just stood there, looking at each other, for a long time, until Galadriel said: "I believe she is gone now. So, what is your plan?"

The brothers looked at each other. "Let us see the balcony," they said.

Galadriel cautiously moved between them and Elros and Elrond and let them pass. Hearing the agonized cry from the outside, she looked...and her heart bled.

New Havens were in ruins, fires burning everywhere, and streets and piers lined with dead bodies of elves. She had not felt Celeborn, Artanáro, Tyelperinquar or Midhel die, so she had faith they were still alive, as well as Elwing, but it was certain that many she had loved and that were of her people were lost. Another city that fell, another nation she had not managed to protect...but at least Itarillë, she believed, was safe in the West. That would be a source of comfort to her for many years to come, she knew.

The brothers came back inside after a long time, and looking at Galadriel and the boys, Nelyafinwë said: "Let us leave."

"And go where?" She asked.

"Away from here. We...we will have to bury our people, but then, we will go somewhere where we do not have to face reminders of our terrible deeds all the time. You will go with us."

"Am I your captive now, then?"

Nelyafinwë shrugged. "I will not have you plotting revenge and organizing those who escaped. I want to keep an eye on you. And besides, where else do you want to go?"

She stayed silent. She knew perfectly well where she wanted to go, but she was not going to lead the remaining sons of Fëanáro to the Isle of Balar. She would always choose captivity over that.

They left to bury their people, and Galadriel was finally free to rush to the twins. "Are you all right, my beloved?" She asked.

"Mother jumped into the sea," Elros replied. "Why did she do that?"

"To keep you safe," Galadriel said.

"Did she go to find father?"

"Perhaps she did," Galadriel replied. It was not a direct lie – Ardamírë might well be at Balar by now. "Now come with me," she said, "I have a lot to do, and I do not want to let you out of my sight."

She took each boy by the hand and led them down the stairs. She wished to protect them from the terrible sight outside, but she dared not leave them alone, and so they went with her, wide-eyed, as she passed among the rows of corpses.

At least a thousand of her people lay there, slain, and almost as many of the Feanorian hosts. She looked and saw faces she knew, faces of her captains and assistants and servants. And then, most horrifying of all, she saw Brannor.

 _He cannot be dead_ , she thought nonsensically. _He is a healer, he should have left for_ _Balar_ _, he should not have fought, why is he here? He was with me the whole time, since the Ice, through Hithlum and Narogrotto and Doriath, how can he be dead?_

"Maitimo," she whispered. "He helped me heal you, do you remember? After Findekáno brought you from Thangorodrim...he helped me even though he crossed the Ice and knew the pains of it better than most, for he helped me care for the injured even there...and he had no reason to love you, and yet he still helped me. He helped me save your life. And now he lies there, slain by your people. That is his reward."

Maitimo appeared behind her like a ghost. He stayed silent for a long time, staring at Brannor's body. "And my youngest brothers are dead," he said then. "That is mine."

After that, he turned and left.

And so Galadriel buried all of her dead – there were few nissi among them, but Dílethil, Amdír's wife, was one, and if there was anything left of her heart to break she would have cried for another blow to Celeborn's family - gave one last longing look in the direction of Balar, and left to live with the sons of Fëanáro.

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It was the second night of their journey to Amon Ereb that Macalaurë came to her as Nelyafinwë slept and she watched over the twins.

"Be careful with them," he said softly. "Maitimo tried to convince me to kill them last night, when you fell asleep for a moment."

Galadriel was shocked. In spite of everything, she had not thought… "Why?" She whispered.

"I do not know. He said...he said he wanted to take revenge, to send a message, to make it clear no one could take the Silmaril from us and remain unpunished, but..." The desperation in Macalaurë's voice was clear, and it took him a moment to calm down enough o add: "He has changed, he is not the brother I once knew."

"He has not been himself since before the Battle of Unnumbered Tears," Galadriel replied. "But even then I would not have expected him to suggest such a monstrosity."

"Neither would I. The Oath has been eating at him for a long time – at me as well, but I at least am not the oldest – and he never made peace with Lúthien taking a Silmaril from Moricotto. But even in Doriath still...do you know what happened there?"

"I know you slaughtered them all," Galadriel replied coldly.

"Yes," Macalaurë agreed in a tight voice. "But the little princes...it was Tyelkormo's servants who took them to the forest and left them there, after Dior killed him, in revenge for their slain master. When Maitimo found out, he exiled them and ordered our people to look for the princes...but to no avail. He had been devastated, then. And now, mere few decades later...there was no reason to it, all the bitterness just overpowered him, I believe. I convinced him otherwise, and the moment passed and he apologized later, but still. I took them under my protection."

Galadriel gave him a measuring look. "Thank you," she said. "And thank you for telling me also. I do need to sleep at times, unfortunately, and I would ask you to watch over them then. If such a moment came once, it can come again. As you say, we must guard them closely."

He inclined his head, and sat down next to her. There was silence for a long time, and then he started to hum softly. She recognized the melody, and when the words appeared, she joined him, almost against her will, in singing the Noldolantë, its words carrying much more weight and tragedy now than she could ever have suspected.

She slept as little as possible the rest of the way to Amon Ereb, and never let the boys out of her sight in waking.

The fortress was a strange place. It was haunted by hundreds of widows and daughters without fathers and mothers without sons now. Of neri, only twenty or so remained, and all there were grieving. Their loyalty to Nelyafinwë, she now saw, was mixed with hate, and there was grim determination, but also hopelessness in the way the nissi trained themselves to fight for him, when there were no others left to do so.

The twins, at least, were growing to Galadriel's full satisfaction. Not distracted by ruling a city, she could devote all of her attention to them, and to her joy, it showed.

She tried, when she watched them, to see traces of their kin in their features and minds. They had much of the form of Dior, and through him of Lúthien. Itarillë's line could hardly be seen in them, except that they both had the grey Noldorin eyes.

But what they lacked in Noldorin looks, they gained in character. Elros' fire was akin to her own and to Artanáro's – or, of course, to Itarillë's - but there was impatience in him, a fleeting quality, that seemed to Galadriel reminiscent more of Ardamírë – and perhaps Beren too, before his suffering. He never could stay long at one subject in their lessons, and it was always him who wished to move, to go, to act.

Elrond was harder to understand, to see though. There was an opaqueness to him, even as such a little child, that was reminiscent of Lúthien, though hers had always been hidden behind the veneer of pure joy. But then, Elrond had not know much pure joy in his life. He also had Nimloth's and his mother's curiosity, and something of Itarillë that she could not quite pinpoint, a certain quality of quiet persistence, of unobtrusively getting his way. And there were signs of Turukáno's privateness as well, but it did not, it seemed to her, go with that tendency to be overly cautious and cowardly.

She was teaching the twins about the Valar at the moment, and Elros asked: "Who is your favourite?"

Galadriel laughed. "It is like asking to chose one among many wonderful friends!"

Elrond frowned. "But people usually do that, don't they? I mean, they have a best friend or two. So…"

"Very well, then. I spent the most time with Lady Estë, I believe, for she was the one I needed the most, the one who taught me how to overcome my weaknesses. But the one I always felt closest to was The Queen of the West, Lady Varda."

"The Star-Kindler?" Elrond seemed surprised. "But, I mean...it seems strange."

"Why?"

"Well, you always said you loved the sun, and you just seem more a midday than midnight kind of person."

Galadriel smiled. "You are completely right," she said. "But Queen Varda is not at all like those who have never been to the West imagine her. We see the light of the stars from a great distance, and they appear to us small and relatively dim, like a muted moon. But from up close, I have heard it said, the stars are actually brighter than the Sun itself, as bright as the Trees once were...and that is what Queen Varda is like. Brighter than the Sun at midday, because the light of Eru lives in her face."

"So, she is really more like you than like our mother?"

"I would never dare to say that Queen Varda was like me, but I feel confident enough in saying that she will not be the Valië your mother will feel closest to. For Elwing, perhaps Lady Vairë or Lady Nessa." She paused. "Or even, I fear, Lady Nienna, as for all of us who have been to Middle-Earth."

"Why do you say you fear?" Elros wondered.

"What have I told you about Lady Nienna?"

"That she understands grief and sadness, and that she can bring consolation?"

"Yes. Your mother was like a daughter to me, and if I could, I would have protected her from every pain and grief in the world. But she was born in a time when that is impossible."

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After two years in Amon Ereb, the expected attack of the Enemy finally came, and even as Nelyafinwë's people tried to make a valiant stand, Galadriel knew it was in vain. He recognized it soon enough as well, and they gathered their strength and fought their way out of the fortress, Galadriel carrying both of the twins on her horse. It was a bloody fight, and when they were finally in safety and far away, there was only about fifty of them left, of the thousand that had inhabited the fortress.

Nelyafinwë did not speak for a week, after this.

They became wanderers and dispossessed in truth, bereft of any permanent seat. It was a strange life. If Galadriel had thought before that she had fallen deep indeed, to move from royal palaces to the simple dwellings of Tol Galen and New Havens, she had no words for the direction her life took now. They stayed mostly at the coasts, for the Enemy and his creatures still feared it. They kept to the south so that they could dwell under the open skies, and when the weather turned black, they went back to News Havens and used the ruins of its buildings for shelter. But the sons of Fëanáro hated doing so, and Galadriel found little pleasure in it as well.

So mostly, they wandered, and in between their fights and hunting to survive, Galadriel tried to go on teaching the boys some wisdom.

History lessons were the hardest. "You say our great-grandmother died in the Ice," Elrond mused one day, "but if it was so dangerous, why did you not go across the sea, in ships?"

Galadriel considered how much to keep from them, but...they needed to know. "Some of us did," she said at length.

"But why not all, then?"

She took a deep breath and prepared to explain when suddenly Nelyafinwë approached the fire they were sitting by. She grew immediately wary, and silent.

He sat down next to them and said quietly: "Because we betrayed your people."

The boys looked at him, wide-eyed. "What do you mean?" Elros asked warily.

"We took the ships and sailed with our host, then burned them on the beach to make it impossible to go back."

The twins were astonished. "But...why? Why did you do it?"

Nelyafinwë kept silent, and Galadriel took the word again. "Nelyafinwë himself is the least to blame," she said. "He did not know, and he begged his father to return for us."

"Then why did he not do so?"

Another silence. "My father was...gripped by a strange kind of madness at the time," Nelyafinwë attempted to explain.

"So he regretted it afterwards?"

More silence, this one broken only by Macalaurë, who reached the fire in the course of the conversation. "I want to believe he would have, in time, but he never got the chance. He died soon after."

There was a longer silence this time, then Nelyafinwë exploded: "Tell them, then! Tell them of our greatest crime! They will learn of it sooner or later anyway, and your mind might be shielded from me, cousin, but I still know you well enough to be certain you intended to explain."

"Because they need to know."

"Why? So that they can look at us in disgust?"

"Do you think they do not, now? You drew a sword on me, _cousin_ , in their presence; that was their first impression of you. What do you think they see, looking at you?"

Nelyafinwë's head dropped into his hands, and suddenly all fight seemed to desert him. "You are right," he admitted, "tell them everything."

"You do not need to listen to it," she offered mildly.

"No, I...I think I should. In fact, I believe I should tell them myself." He suddenly looked at her. "Do you know that I have never done that before? I have never spoken about it to anyone who has not known already. Even with Lord Herúsea all those centuries ago, I had a loremaster do it." He stared into the fire for a moment, then started to talk slowly, and as he did, the horror of Alqualondë rose again before Galadriel's eyes. In spite of everything, it was still one of her worst memories.

Nelyafinwë's voice trailed off at the end of his story, and the boys were too shocked to speak. Macalaurë took a few steps towards his brother, then he pressed his shoulder. "Can you forgive us?" He asked the twins.

The boys seemed taken aback at such a responsibility. "You have not wronged us," Elrond replied carefully. "It is not us whom you should be asking for forgiveness."

Nelyafinwë laughed bitterly. "This is exactly what Nerwen's husband said when we begged him. We cannot reach the ones we wronged, and you are the heirs of Elwë, brother to Olwë. If not you, then who?"

Galadriel gave Nelyafinwë a long look. Then she touched the edges of his mind with hers, and when he opened to her just a little, she sent him a memory of her escape from Doriath. He immediately looked away. He knew what she meant. That was one thing the boys could perhaps have the right to forgive, but it was also one they were very unlikely to, and one Nelyafinwë was still not ready to confess to them. Perhaps because there was no half-mad father to hide behind this time. "We have kept you alive and safe all this time," he said loudly, turning tot he boys, clearly trying to push that memory of Doriath from his mind. "We could have killed you, and we have kept you alive! You could show some little gratefulness."

"Leave them be," Macalaurë said sharply before Galadriel had time to open her mouth. "How can you say that, how can you say _they_ should be grateful to _us_?"

"Should they not? Is this what captors usually do to their captives, caring for them? It is certainly not how Moricotto treated me!"

"Let us go," Galadriel said, quietly but insistently, to the boys, and took each of them by the hand.

"Where do you think you are taking them?" Nelyafinwë asked.

"Away from you," Galadriel replied. "Your brother can deal with you, and once you are calmer, you can go find us."

She turned to leave and heard Nelyafinwë rise, and also heard when Macalaurë stepped in his way.

"Come," she said, tugging at the boys' hands insistently, and quickened her pace. When her eldest cousin was taken by one of his bouts of madness, there were no traces of the elf she once knew to be found in him, and he was dangerous to be around.

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AN: I have been told that this inclusion of Galadriel is perhaps the least 'realistic'/in accordance with Tolkien of all, and while I don¨t intend to deny it, allow me to offer my reasoning: 1) Elwing would not have left her little sons if she wasn't confident enough that there was someone there to protect them, and 2) I am not buying that Elrond grew to be the extremely well-adjusted individual he was by being raised by Maedhros in the very formative age of 6-12 (and possibly 6-62, given that we have no clear timeline of when exactly they let the boys go). That guy was basically a psychopath by that point, and Maglor was only a little better, let's be real. They needed _some_ sane adult who cares for them in their life. It didn't have to be Galadriel, obviously, but...well, you must have already noticed that this is a 'let's insert Galadriel into every Silm storyline' story.

About Varda, well, I have headcanons for this. barbarakaterina. tumblr post/132092187916


	34. Light

AN: Oh look, another bonus chapter!

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 **Chapter 34: Light**

 _Year 543 of the Sun, Western coast of Beleriand_

Galadriel was sitting on a fallen tree trunk, her eyes never leaving Elros.

They twins were sparring with the sons of Fëanáro, and while she trusted Macalaurë enough to mostly leave him alone with Elrond, Nelyafinwë was a different matter entirely.

Today was one of his good days, otherwise she would never have let him as much as approach the boys, but still, that could change at any moment. She had asked Elros, quietly and carefully, if he truly wished to spar with the red-headed son of Fëanáro, and Elros had proudly raised his chin and said that he was not afraid.

His mind bore witness to his lie, but Galadriel felt no need to say so, and instead had just nodded curtly.

And now Elros was slowly circling the older elf, trying to get through his defence.

"It is so strange, fighting against someone who uses their left hand," he muttered. "Is it even useful? I mean, how often will I encounter it in a real fight?"

"Everything may come in useful," Nelyafinwë replied, and made a quick lunge, hitting Elros with the flat side of his sword.

Elros grimaced. "I do not know how to do it," he said. "I do not know how _you_ do it! How did you learn?"

"I had no choice," Nelyafinwë replied curtly.

"Why? I mean, why did the wound not heal?"

Nelyafinwë laughed bitterly. "Perhaps in Aman, my hand would have grown back, though I do not know if that is true. But here in Middle-Earth..." He shook his head. "Pay attention in your sparring lessons. If someone cuts off your hand, you have lost it."

Galadriel gave Nelyafinwë a look. It was a little more complicated than that, but she understood why he did not wish to talk about that part. Nelyafinwë's wrist, as well as many of his scars, also did not heal because his soul never fully healed from his suffering. Suddenly, she thought of Midhel. It was strange that of all of Nelyafinwë's family, it was his brother's captive wife that might have understood him best when it came to this part of his life. Not that Midhel would have ever felt safe enough with him to talk about this experience.

"I need to watch someone else fight you first," Elros was saying. "Can Macalaurë fight with you for a while, so that I can learn?"

"Macalaurë is teaching Elrond at the moment," Galadriel replied. "Let them have their time."

"But I need to see!" Elrond insisted.

Galadriel considered this, then smiled. "Very well, then," she said, and rose.

"You?" Elros was clearly surprised. "You will fight Nelyafinwë?"

"You have seen me fight orcs often enough," she replied.

"Yes, but I have never seen you spar."

And for a good reason. Galadriel did not train often, and did not trust herself with the sons of Fëanáro. But just for a short while, only to illustrate the point for Elros – surely there would be no harm in that? She took the sword from Elros and faced her cousin.

Nelyafinwë was better with weapons than she was, she knew that perfectly well. He started out mildly enough, letting her find her pace, but then his speed increased, and as Galadriel parried every one of his passes, all the reasons she had avoided this until now came to the foreground of her mind. "Careful," she said, but Nelyafinwë continued pressing her, and under the stress of that, she reached for the force that drove her when she was fighting, for that fire, and found the anger she felt towards Nelyafinwë, for all the deaths he had caused. It flared brightly as that flame filled her, and he was forced to take a step back, then another.

Galadriel put down her sword, breathing heavily.

"We have to stop now," she said.

Nelyafinwë only nodded jerkily. Macalaurë and Elrond took a break in their sparring, and Macalaurë was now watching them with serious, worried eyes.

"What was that?" Elrond asked curiously.

"And how can I learn to do it?" Elros continued.

Galadriel took a deep breath to calm herself, still a little winded. "That," she replied, "was the light of the West. It is easy for me to reach it and call it forward, for I have been there, but you should be able to do it as well. Lady Melian is your foremother, and you have seen the Silmaril around your mother's throat. Think of it and close your eyes, and try to bring the light forth."

Elrond got the hang of it first. It was not as strong as with those who have truly been to the West, but it was there, a faint glow, and it would be enough to drive the lowlier servants of the Enemy away from him. Elros, unwilling to be behind in anything, managed to do it soon after with his brother's help.

"Why did you not use it as well, to fight back against Aunt?" He asked Nelyafinwë then.

Nelyafinwë's face seemed to turn into stone at those words.

"We no longer can," Macalaurë answered for him. "We have killed too many innocents. We cannot reach the light."

The boys exchanged a look. They knew about all the crimes of the sons of Fëanáro now, and knew, also, that any mention of them could provoke Nelyafinwë into one of his unpredictable moods.

And, indeed, after only a short silence Nelyafinwë burst out: "I know I have been judged, I know it well enough, I do not need to see it in your eyes looking at me!"

"Go," Galadriel said softly, and Elros immediately rose and pulled at Elrond's reluctant arm. Macalaurë went with them, for Galadriel was now fixed by Nelyafinwë's gaze as he raged on. "Did you long to kill me, when we fought?" He asked. "Perhaps you should have. At least then you, too, would know what it is like to have your hands stained by the blood of your kin...even you, my perfect little cousin...do you know how that feels? And my brothers, too, almost all dead because of me, lying on the floor of that throne room in Thousand Caves...Atarinkë had been so worried, you know, so afraid his son would be there and fight him...that would have been the worst kind of kinslaying...but he was not, he is probably long dead, and so is everyone else, dead because of me, and you sit there and look at me and feel all superior!"

"I know well what it is to feel guilt," she replied, with spirit of her own. " _Doriath_ fell, and Narogrotto, and Hithlum, all through some fault of mine."

"Fault of yours! Ha! Was it not me who signed the deaths sentence of all those who perished there, of those thousands, tens of thousands, and Findekáno...oh heavens, Findekáno, whom I had loved more than anyone, Findekáno who saved me from the suffering and torture of the Enemy, and I led him to his death! Findekáno!"

Nelyafinwë's shouts changed into wordless howling, and in spite of herself, Galadriel rose from her trunk and went to embrace him carefully. He shook her of, however, and ran away into the gathering darkness.

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They were in the ruins of Eglarest when they saw the bright new star rising from the West, and three of those present knew the Silmaril intimately enough that they could not mistake it for anything else. It was Nelyafinwë who expressed their thoughts, when he turned to Macalaurë and said: "Surely that is a Silmaril that shines now in the sky?"

"If it truly is the Silmaril that we saw cast into the sea, rising again by the power of the Valar, then let us be glad," Macalaurë replied carefully, soothingly. "For its glory is seen now by many, and yet it is secure from all evil."

Nelyafinwë was clearly less content with this knowledge than his brother, but he assented nevertheless.

What they did not speak about, however, was the hope such a light brought, because for them, it was mixed with fear.

But Galadriel thought about it without a pause, thought about what it could mean, what she hoped it would mean, and about all those others who would see it as well, The Enemy in his fortress and Sauron by his side – were they shaking in fear? - and all those who lived at Balar now. Did they recognise the jewel they saw so many times on Elwing's neck? What was Lady Ernil thinking? She never knew the West, so how strange must it be, to know the West might come to Middle-Earth now? And Midhel, did she see hope for herself in it?

But most of all, of course, she thought of Artanáro and Celeborn. She missed them bitterly every day, and now she reached for them with her mind, the image of the new star bright before her eyes, and they responded, responded with hope and joy and faith, and wished so much that she could be with them now and celebrate.

She took the twins aside and spoke with them alone, her voice breaking with the tears she was attempting not to shed. "Your mother," she said, "is safe in the West."

"Safe from all pain, just like you wanted," Elrond remarked.

"Aman cannot undo the pain she has suffered already, but it is true that it can help to heal it. In any case she is happier than we who remain here are now, but the light gives me hope that your father has done as he intended and sought help for us, and that the Lords of the West heard him."

"What do you mean?"

"I hesitated to speak to you of such hope, because while I always knew it was the only thing that could save us, I had no certainty it would come...but what I mean is that the Valar will come themselves, to free us from darkness."

"The Valar?" Elros asked, incredulous. "Come here?"

Galadriel smiled sadly, realizing that in spite of all she had told them, the Valar were much like creatures from legend for the boys. "I hope and believe so, beloved," she said, "but there is no telling when."

It took two years, and she knew the boys stopped believing in her hope when time passed and they had to continue hiding from the Enemy along the coast while the Silmaril shone above their heads. But then, one day, an even greater light appeared in the West, and it grew brighter every day, until finally Galadriel could see through it and she sank to the sands of Falas, weeping.

"Aunt?" Elrond asked, alarmed. "What is it?"

"My father," she said, tears streaming down her face. "My father is coming as the head of a host of Noldor..."

She turned her entire mind towards the approaching ships and called with all its strength: _Father!_

And the answer came: _My beloved child…_

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The happiness Galadriel felt in this meeting outshone even that she had felt when Itarillë arrived in New Havens, for this was after a longer separation, and a fulfilment of an even slimmer hope. She boarded the ship with Elros and Elrond and for a long time, she just stood in quiet embrace with her father, too joyful for words or tears, their minds touching and filled with love for each other, and the boundless happiness of this reunion.

Afterwards, she introduced the boys and went to greet Uncle Arolwe, her mother's brother who served as the mariner on the ship. "Is Itarillë all right?" She asked then.

"Yes," her father replied. "In a great mercy of the Valar, she and Tuor both live in the blessed lands. His fate was changed, just as Lúthien's had been."

Here, Galadriel sank to her knees and sang a prayer of thanks to the Valar. "You will be able to thank their envoys, at least, in person soon," her father said, smiling. "They are coming behind us."

Galadriel rose, a little bewildered. "It has been so long," she said, "I have...I have missed it so much, seeing them, speaking to them. And the boys see them as completely unreal."

"Not unreal," Elrond protested. "Just very distant, like The One."

"But The One is not distant, my child," Arafinwë replied. "He is with you every minute of every day..."

"He is at the same time more distant and closer than the Valar are," Galadriel added, smiling. The boys did not look like this explanation was helpful in the slightest. "What about Elwing and Ardamírë?" She changed the topic.

"They arrived, and Eärendil gave his message to the Valar, and was heard. They were also given a choice between the human and elven fate. From what we know, Eärendil let Elwing choose, and she chose us. Their children, we were told," he added, looking down at the boys, "would be given the same choice." That thought scared Galadriel, that one of the little boys who now stood before her with their eyes very wide would one day choose to die, but she pushed it away. They were both raised by elves, she thought. Surely, they would not. Not even Elros, who sometimes reminded her of Beren...no.

"It is Eärendil you see crossing the sky now, every night," her father added.

"Him? But we thought...the Silmaril..."

"The Silmaril shines on his forehead, but it is him in his ship."

"And Elwing?" Galadriel asked, suddenly worried, for if Ardamírë sailed the skies now, what became of his wife?

"She lives in a white tower by the sea where she welcomes him every morning as he returns," Arafinwë replied in a mild, calming voice.

Galadriel, however, was not entirely comforted. "She lives there alone?"

"Mostly, yes. Itarillë and Tuor visit there from time to time, I believe."

The Nolde frowned. "You and mother should go to see her," she said. "She was like my daughter, and so she is in some ways your granddaughter."

Her father tilted his head to the side. "She was like your daughter? How come? We understood, from the little that was told us about this, that she was of Elwë's line..."

"Yes, she is the daughter of Dior and Nimloth, and Dior was the son of Lúthien and Beren and Singollo's heir, while Nimloth was Singollo's - Elwë's - great-great-niece. But Nimloth and Dior were slain," she shot a quick look to the shore, where Nelyafinwë and Macalaurë were still waiting, "when Elwing was only three years old, along with their sons. I escaped with her and I have raised her."

"I did not know that, and I am sorry. As soon as I am returned to Aman, we will go and see her, I promise you."

Galadriel nodded. "Thank you." She paused, and asked hesitatingly. "I am glad to hear that all of those who passed West while living are well...have any of the others been allowed to roam free in the lands of Aman?"

"Yes. Of those I am aware you know, four. Your eldest brother..."

"Ingoldo?" She interrupted him, and the day seemed impossibly brightened. "Oh, praise the Valar! Oh, brother! Is he happy?"

"Yes, and he is with Amarië."

Tears began to stream again out of Galadriel's eyes. "I am simply so...so glad and relieved, Father, I cannot even express it in words. It always seemed especially painful someone as noble and honourable as he, for all he has his faults, was forced to face evil and darkness...I am so very happy that the Valar rewarded him for all the good thing he has done, and for all the faith he always had." She paused. "You said there were four? Who were the others?"

"Lords Edrahil, Ehtelion and Laurefindil. Ingoldo and Edrahil both chose to stay with their loves in Aman, declining to leave them ever again – very wisely so, I believe – but Turukáno's lords..." Arafinwë looked to the side, and following his gaze Galadriel could see Lord Laurefindil at the bow of the next ship. He bowed to her. "My lady," he said, and she smiled at him brilliantly.

"Lord Laurefindil," she replied. "Would you consider crossing here? I would like to introduce to you the sons of Eärendil and grandchildren of Itarillë."

"I will be honoured to meet them, my lady," he replied. Once he reached their ship, he first gave Galadriel warm regards from Itarillë and Elwing and Ardamírë, along with thanks for caring for the boys, and then he bowed in front of the twins. "My lords," he said, "I bring greetings from your parents, and your grandparents that you never met. They cannot wait to see you in Aman one day. I was a lord in your great-grandfather's house when it still stood, and I promised your grandmother to offer you any assistance I can while here."

The boys exchanged a glance. "It is strange," Elrond mused, "to have greetings from a grandmother we do not know. Aunt told us much about her, of course, but still."

"Then perhaps I can tell you even more? Newer stories, ones that your Aunt does not know? Stories about your grandfather as well?"

The boys nodded eagerly, and he took them aside, giving Galadriel the space she wanted to talk to her father.

"Are you and mother well?" She asked.

"Yes, though we miss you. We are glad, at least, that Ingoldo has returned to us, though only recently. It is but few Valian years and he spent most of them with Amarië, so we do not know much from him about your years here. Are we to expect your brothers soon?"

Galadriel thought about it. "I believe Angaráto should come as soon as he heals from the wounds the suffering he saw left on his soul," she said. "With Aikanáro I am less certain. But of course the judgement is the purview of the Valar."

"This judgement," her father corrected her.

"Yes, naturally." She hesitated. "How are the others? How is...Alqualondë?"

"Well again," he replied with a soft smile. "All of those who died by our people's hand came back long ago, healed from the suffering. They are ready to grant forgiveness, I believe, when some of those who are guilty begin to come back and if they are contrite."

 _Findekáno_ , Galadriel thought immediately, and was glad to hear it. "And Aunt Anairë? How did she bear the separation?"

"It was difficult," her father admitted. "She moved back with her parents, and spent much time with us as well, though at the beginning your mother was grieving for Alqualondë and for your departure too much to be able to help her with her pain. But now it is better, and especially since Itarillë came back. They live together in Ñolofinwë's old house in Tirion now. Tuor is the wonder of the city."

Galadriel laughed. "And what of our relations in Valimar?" She asked.

"Oh, Valimar continues mostly untouched by our woes. Your grandmother lives back there now, so I visit even more often than before."

"And how is she?"

"Sometimes I think better than when Father was still among us, but I know that is unkind, and that she misses him. But...well, she is at home there. She never entirely was in Tirion."

"And the rest of the house?" Galadriel continued her enquiry. "How fare my great-aunt and Lady Elemmírë? And great-grandmother?"

"You know they are always well. I do not believe Lady Elemmírë, in particular, had one day of woe in her life, and she can always make great-aunt Laureheri equally cheerful. My grandmother was upset greatly by Mother's fate, but she came to terms with it, I believe."

"Is any of them here?"

He frowned. "No," he said. "Lady Elemmírë wished to come, insisting that her songs could uplift the warriors' spirits, but great-aunt begged her not to, and you know that Lady Elemmírë never refuses her anything."

Galadriel nodded. She knew that perfectly well. That was the only reason why she had been sometimes sung to sleep by the famous bard, after all. Remembering it in this way, she missed that house in Valimar so much it hurt, that place of comfort and wisdom and joy. Tirion always seemed full of strife in comparison. Her memories of Valimar were full of golden light – she knew she had seen it many times under the light of Telperion, but somehow she never remembered that – and of the melodious voice of Lady Elemmírë and the laughter of other ladies of the house and it was all so bright and she wished, wished desperately she could have it back.

"And what about you?" Her father asked, oblivious to the tears that threatened to fall out of her eyes. "We know you have married, Ingoldo told us that much. I hope your husband is as devoted to you as Lady Elemmírë to her wife. Is he here now?"

"No," she replied. "He is elsewhere, in safety."

Her father frowned at this, and she forestalled him with a raised hand. "There were good reasons for this," she said. "And I did not need his protection." His company, yes – oh, how bitterly she missed it – but not protection. "But you will meet him," she added. "I promise."

In fact, as soon as the greetings were over, Galadriel cast her mind to Celeborn and Artanáro, the picture of the ships from the West burning in her mind, and felt their joyous response.

Then, turning to Arolwe, she said: "Do I understand it correctly that you will not be fighting in this war?"

"Yes. Our people only agreed to sail with the ships, for Elwing, whom you named as your daughter, has begged it of us, and she is our kin."

"Then I am certain it will be no great burden to you if I ask you to guard her sons for me for a time, while I arrange some matters concerning this fight, and decide where my help would do the most good."

Arolwe assented, but her father heard her and said: "You want to fight, Artanis? Are you sure that is wise?"

Galadriel laughed. "Meaning no offence, Father, but I believe I have fought in more battles in my life than you have, and I have held back a lot. I have fought in many more just in the last five years that we have lived in the wilderness." She smiled at him. "But do not worry, I will not be risking my life in the front lines. I have made a promise to Findekáno, an age ago, not to do that. Who is in charge of the overall strategy?"

"Lord Eönwë."

"Then let me speak to him when he comes, and I will find out what would be the best use of my powers."

Arafinwë laughed. "I see you do not change, child."

Galadriel turned her eyes to him, and revealed fully the depth of grief that was behind them. The smile disappeared from her father's face. "I am sorry, Father," she said immediately. "I should not have shown it to you."

"No, _I_ am sorry. It was thoughtless of me to speak so. We who stayed in the West and were born there cannot even imagine the suffering you went through, I know, not even after you tell us of it."

"Do not think about it, please. It will all be better now."

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When Galadriel disembarked the ship, she went in search of the sons of Fëanáro, who have disappeared from the beach. They were not far, though, just on the edges of a nearby forest.

"We will be leaving now," Nelyafinwë said once she reached them.

There was an uncertain silence. What do you say in farewell to one who has done so much harm to those that you love, and yet you are bound to him by love in turn, if only for the sake of ages past? Galadriel did not say anything, and at length, Nelyafinwë spoke again: "Give our greetings to Elros and Elrond. I know you will not allow them to leave the safety of those ships again, as long as the war lasts, and you know we cannot board them."

Galadriel gave him a long look. "Why did you want to kill them, Nelyafinwë?" She asked then.

"Why did my father burn the ships?" He returned bitterly. "Madness is claiming me bit by bit, cousin, the accursed oath driving me to it. The twins and you...you kept it at bay. Now I fear..."

"There is still some love for you left in my heart, Nelyafinwë, even though I do not understand this madness you speak about. But you cannot believe I would put them just to the slightest risk to help you."

"No. That is why I do not ask."

"Stay with your brother, and listen to his voice of reason, and your path will stay clear."

"Or I will drag him with me into the madness."

"Not if you listen to him." Galadriel hesitated, then stepped closer to Nelyafinwë and embraced him briefly. "May The One be merciful to you," she said, for she did not believe there would be any mercy for the sons of Fëanáro from the Valar.

She gave Macalaurë a longer embrace, for for this cousin she felt more sorry. "If you ever need help with your brother," she said, "do not hesitate to turn to me, and I will do what I can."

"Do you truly believe that I am strong enough to keep his madness at bay?"

That was the question, was it not? Galadriel had strong doubts, but her mind was shielded and she said: "Do what you can and pray. You have stayed his hand once, so the One willing, you will stay it again."

Macalaurë nodded. "Tell the boys," he said then, "tell them I truly loved them."

"They know, beloved."

And Galadriel turned and walked to the bright ship of Lord Eönwë, to get ready for war.


	35. Wrath

**Chapter 35: Wrath**

 _Year 555 of the Sun, Estolad_

The war dragged on.

Galadriel had reunited with Celeborn and Artanáro when they came from Balar with those of the Noldor that wished to fight. Tyelperinquar stayed behind, for his mother could not bear the idea of his departure.

Lord Ciryatan commanded the Sindarin troops, but Lord Eönwë asked them to form a joint leadership with Artanáro's Noldor, since there were so few fighters left. The Middle-Earth troops were to keep to the back, weaker and less numerous that those from Aman, and their task would be cleaning the lands of any remaining, stray orcs after the main host had passed.

So the command was divided between the two lords, and Galadriel was responsible for the coordination of their efforts, with Celeborn, who refused to leave her after the long separation, at her side. They organized survey missions and pored over maps for hours, trying to see places where any agents of the Enemy could have hidden before the oncoming storm of the host of the West.

It was not a glorious role, but Galadriel was happy she could take part at least in some small way, even if she would never get North and see the Enemy defeated with her own eyes.

Elros and Elrond had agreed to go to Balar at the beginning of the war, to stay with Lady Ernil whom they knew and remembered, but three years later, they reached their majority and Elros' mind now showed his demand to be allowed to fight more and more clearly. Galadriel dreaded the idea, but knew it was their right, and so with a heavy heart she sent a small unit through the lands that were already completely free of the Enemy to bring the boys to her.

"I hope we have not forgotten how to fight," Elros muttered on their return, after she greeted them affectionately. "We sparred with each other through the years, but the others would not train with us."

Galadriel frowned at him. "Do you wonder," she asked, "that many of the survivors of, in some cases, two kinslayings, would not be so keen on crossing swords with another elf again, even in sparring?"

Elros looked embarrassed that he had not realized the connection, and Galadriel smiled. "I will provide you with better training here," she said. "You will not fight in battles for now anyway, only deliver messages-" Elros looked outraged by this, but one look from her silenced him, "-and when you are here, I will try to get Artanáro to train with you."

Elros' outrage disappeared immediately. The High King was, after all, the hero of their childhood, and only a chance to see him again would have been enough to quieten them.

They both did well in their training and in their messenger duties, and one day when Galadriel sent them with a message to the company under Ehtelion's command, she was surprised when, apart from a response, they returned with Lord Laurefindil as well.

"My lady," he greeted her with a small bow.

"Lord Laurefindil. Is the journey so dangerous that you felt they needed an escort?"

"No," he replied, "but I did promise Itarillë that I would take care of her grandsons and protect them while in Middle-Earth. I hesitated when they originally left for Balar, considering whether I should not go with them, but in the end I decided they would be perfectly safe there. As soon as I saw that they joined the fight, however, I knew I had to go with them."

"You will not find much glory in this backwater of war," she told him. "We only collect what is left."

"It is not glory that I seek," he returned, and that was that.

Lord Laurefindil was a small sensation in their camp, for most Noldor there had heard Itarillë or Ardamírë remember his noble sacrifice for their family and other refugees as they were escaping Ondolindë. The lord did not seek to recount the tale, however, and while he was very far from being a recluse, he seemed most comfortable in relative solitude when he was not fighting, either with the twins or with Galadriel, or sometimes Artanáro.

The High King, for his part, was truly charmed to meet the golden Noldo and spared him every moment he could to discuss strategy and tactics and other military matters, as well as to spar. "I have to make use of his time here," he had told Galadriel, "as short as it is to be."

Yet if it was to be short was not clear, for the war was still not ending, and it was now twenty years that it had been going on. They were progressing, true, and all the lands south of where Doriath used to be were now clear of the Enemy already, but still Galadriel did not see why the Valar did not give them more help, did not send more Maiar, and instead let elves suffer and die. The only one of the higher powers present was still Eönwë, somewhere in the North, as the High Commander.

Elros and Elrond were truly adults now, and fulfilled every promise she had seen in them when they were younger. They each had their own job in the war, and their own missions. Elros was always at the fore, leading the first forays into the lands about the safety of which they were to make certain, contacting troops in the lands that were still dangerous. Elrond tended to stay behind more, helping Galadriel with planning and healing, though when he _was_ out in the field, he was almost as deadly as his brother. But he wished to observe and study and understand more, and it was not long until he asked Galadriel to teach him how to help the wounded. She did, and in healing he became to her what Brannor used to be, her right hand and the one she could leave any patient to when she was called to different duties.

There was a different fate waiting for Elros. His missions often brought him to the settlements of the Second-born to bring them food and news and to recruit those of them who wished to join the form of war that Galadriel's troops led. He liked them, Galadriel knew, and trained their young fighters whenever he could, and commanded his own unit composed entirely of the Second-born. He spent weeks in their settlements at a time, telling them stories of heroic deeds their kin took part in that he witnessed. It was on one of such visit, some thirty years into the war, that he met Adanel, the young daughter of the chief of the House of Hador, and love found him.

He spent longer in that settlement this time, and when he returned, he asked Galadriel for a private word, and told her his story.

She embraced him heavily, and when her face was hidden from him, she allowed herself a short expression of grief, closing her eyes against the unimaginable. "If she were an elf," she said then, when she was calmer, letting him go, "I would advise you to wait without question, for it is not advisable to marry in the middle of a war. With a woman...they live longer now, do they not, than they used to?"

"Yes. In the light of the West, they live as long as two hundred years."

"Then my counsel is still to wait. This war will not take forever, and your wedding will be a happier affair if it takes place in peace."

He nodded shortly, and gave her a questioning look. "You are very...complacent about it, Aunt."

"Did you expect me to stand in the way of your happiness?"

"Well, she is of the Second-born. I did not fear censure, otherwise I would not have spoken to you, but I did expect you to at least attempt to talk me out of it."

Galadriel smiled. "You are forgetting, beloved, that your great-grandmother was very dear to me and I did not attempt to dissuade her from marrying Beren, and both him and Tuor were my friends. And when my own brother, Aikanáro the Bright Flame," and here she felt a stab of pain, as she always did, speaking of her brothers, "fell in love with Andreth, I encouraged him to pursue her and it was his own fear of loss that prevented him."

"One burden I do not have to carry, and yet...this choice means I will not see my parents again, till the end of the world."

Galadriel embraced him again. Why did Eru keep making those she loved face such hard choices, she wondered. But then she stepped away and said something she had known for a long time, yet had refused to admit: "Elros, I am well aware that you are much like your father, and I see traces of Beren in you as well. Without Adanel, you might have considered choosing the elven fate, for your brother and your family, but I see that part of you would find the long years tiring. The One has a reason for all he does, and your love for Adanel is no exception."

He pressed her hands in gratefulness. "I will try to remember that in my darker hours."

"You may consider spending even more time with the Second-born," Galadriel remarked. "You will have to choose with which kind you will settle afterward, and it will be easier if you know them better."

This time, he kissed her hands. "How could I ever settle away from you?" He asked. "What would I do without your advice?"

She laughed at him, but then grew serious. "Have you told your brother yet?" She asked.

"No," he admitted. "I...fear that. I know that he shares no ties with the Second-born, that his soul is wholly elven, and yet...how can I choose a fate different from him? Not seeing Mother ever again is a hard thought, and having to say goodbye to you forever one day pains me acutely even now, but my brother...he is my twin. How can I ever leave him? And yet not being with Adanel is even more impossible. I, at least, have that knowledge. He does not. How will he ever understand, when he does not feel my love for her?"

"Simply open your mind to him, beloved, and he will."

She gave him strength, and he left to speak with Elrond immediately. Only after his departure did Galadriel allow herself that mute scream that had been threatening to escape her throat ever since Elros told her. _Why?_

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Slowly but surely, the army proceeded north. The fights became more brutal, more bloody, and there were still no Valar in sight. The dark, creeping horror of the most dreadful of the Enemy's forces was reaching even the Middle-Earth troops now, and beside her planning and healing, Galadriel now had to boost the morale and give hope as well.

It was hard to find it in herself sometimes, because even though she wanted to trust, she did not understand. Why did the Lords of the West allow them to march and die, when their arrival could turn the tides instantly? It was easier now than ever before, of course, for the hosts from Aman were full of light and so the losses were few, but still, why let them be exhausted by the long fight?

She only shared these musings with hose closest to her, however, and had assurances for the others. Was this falsehood, she wondered?

But then, when she felt they were all too exhausted to continue fighting, the light grew bright, the trumpets of Eönwë sounded, and the Valar came.

Even Galadriel, who knew them from Aman, was struck by the forms they took for this battle, and they all stood and watched in wonder as the Balrogs cowed in fear before Oromë's wrath and Tulkas' laughter. Even if the two Valar did not fight, merely directed their troops, their presence had a strong effect. It was glorious and uplifting and terrible and beautiful, and there, for the briefest of moments, Galadriel felt that she never should have wished to depart a land where Lords of the West dwelt. Only two of them came, but they were accompanied by a great number of Maiar, and Galadriel searched in vain for Olórin among them, even though she knew he would not be one to take up such task. Most of them would be servants of the two Valar who arrived, and some, too, would be Manwë's. She watched the host and marveled and remembered.

And when their victory seemed at hand, the winged dragons appeared.

The Middle-Earth troops were gripped with fear, as were the other ones, but the elves who left Aman five hundred years ago were more hardened than their kin recently arrived from Valinor and were used to the Enemy's horrors. "Stand fast!" Galadriel called to them, with Artanáro and Lord Ciryatan repeating the same order. That was when one of the dragons flew in their direction, and fire came out of his mouth.

Galadriel did what she could to protect her host from its deathly power, but it was strong and she was tired, and so even as it flew away, a tail end of the flame caught Thranduil, standing at the edge of the Sindarin company.

Oropher let out a wail and rushed to his son's side. Galadriel was there already, doing what she could to heal the damage.

"Step away from my son," Oropher said menacingly.

She raised her eyes to him and saw he was beyond reason, yet she had to try. "Oropher, this may be the only chance to save him-"

"You will not touch him," he said, and took his son's body in his arms and left the battle.

Galadriel exchanged a troubled glance with Celeborn. She feared for Thranduil, and dreaded what would happen to Oropher if he died. She could only hope that there was still enough reason left in her in-law to seek help of one of the Maiar.

This occurrence took courage away even from her host, and Galadriel was beginning to wonder if the Valar were to intervene at all when Ardamírë appeared.

"Look," Galadriel whispered to Elrond, who was by her side at that moment, "your father..."

The young elf's memories of his father were hazy at best, and seeing the glorious figure on Vingilot, he was astonished. Truth be told, Galadriel was no less so, marveling at the great glory that Valar have given to him for his bravery in venturing to the forbidden lands. And as the host of the West, with the Maiar by their side, destroyed the other dragons, Ardamírë killed the greatest, black one, and it fell, destroying the towers of Thangorodrim. The sun rose, then, and all sang in praise of the new day as the two Valian Lords descended into the depths of the Earth and dragged the Dark Enemy out and bound him and took the Silmarils from his crown.

Then Tulkas and Oromë took him away in their blazing glory, and the joy and relief all felt that it was finally, finally over, that they were free, that there would be no more darkness...it was overwhelming, and for a long time, Galadriel could think of nothing else as she embraced her loved ones around her.

When she looked around herself for the first time, however, she was horrified by what she saw. The land they were on was clearly protected by the Maiar, but around them there were chasms filled with smoking fire or boiling sea, for miles and miles around. The realms she knew and loved were no more.

She knew, now, why the Maiar had hesitated so long to join the fight, and why the Valar never did. Their fury, when unleashed, let nothing in its path stand. Thrown by the destruction, she looked to those around her and saw equal shock on their faces. They all embraced again, this time united in grief for the lands that had become dear to them through the years. Celeborn, especially, was shaking. He had never known any other lands, and he had lived in Middle-Earth for a very long time.

The pure joy of the victory somewhat spoiled, they went in search of Elros to celebrate with him, his betrothed and her people nevertheless. There, the happiness was more uncomplicated. The Second-born did not have such a deep bond with Arda, and those who were now alive never knew the lands without the Enemy's forces crawling all over them. It was refreshing, for a time, but Galadriel could not stay too long, and she returned to their own tent with Celeborn and Artanáro, to mourn the lost beauty. They sat and talked and sang the many songs they knew which celebrated the lands of Beleriand, all those lost joys of Ondolindë and Narogrotto and Doriath, the beauty of the forests and the mountains and the coasts.

Their night of celebration and mourning, however, was interrupted when a messenger from her father came to them at speed. "My lady," he said, "my lords."

"Yes?" Galadriel replied. "What is it?"

"I have terrible news...the sons of Fëanáro made one last, desperate grab for the Silmarils, and killed the guards in reclaiming them. They were caught, and sent away with the jewels by Lord Eönwë."

All present gasped. "They were allowed to keep the jewels?" Galadriel asked in shock. She had been so certain they did not deserve that, not after the Third Kinslaying...but if Lord Eönwë himself decreed it so…

"Yes, my lady. We were...surprised as well."

While Artanáro asked for more details, Galadriel stared into the distance, her mind trying to find Macalaurë. He was hiding himself, she soon felt, but just as she was about to give up, she suddenly felt Nelyafinwë's mind open fully to her, something that had not happened for eighty years. _Goodbye_ , he said simply, the words accompanied by such an enormous amount of guilt and pain that she did not understand how he could have lived with it, and then a fiery chasm opened before him, and after a brief flare of physical pain, he was gone.

Galadriel did not sleep that, or the following few days, her mind going over all of the good memories of her cousin that she had, from Aman and after, from before the Oath took his mind. _I hope_ , she thought, _that at least he is at peace now_.

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Eönwë marched the entire host of elves over the narrow, protected strip of land that collapsed behind them to the newly created shoreline, where the white ships of the Teleri were already waiting. "Elves of Beleriand," he said then, and his voice carried to all of them, "you are asked now to come to Aman. The invitation stands for all of you, and those who left before, if they ask for forgiveness, it will be granted to them. Build your ships and I will lead you. Those who want to stay longer may, and are free to come to Valinor when they tire of Middle-Earth, as long as they are ready to bow before the Valar."

Galadriel's eyes widened. She had never hoped the ban would be lifted, and the most she ever allowed herself to believe was that the Valar would come and free them from the Enemy. The possibility to return to Aman...that was truly an unexpected blessing, a joy on top of the glorious victory, and it made her laugh out loud, it made her want to dance and sing and praise the Lords of the West. She was not the only one. Many tears were shed on that occasion, tears of joy, for the hope they have all forfeited was now returned to them.

But for Galadriel, it was also a hard moment.

"Do you wish to go, Aunt?" Artanáro asked her.

She smiled at him. "Do you?"

He laughed in response: "I asked you first!" Then he grew serious. "My answer much depends on yours. I know my parents and sister will soon await me beyond the sea, but...they are not there now, there is no one there for me now, and you have been like a mother to me for so many years, and closer to me than my own father always."

Galadriel had to embrace him after this, but then she said: "That should not be what you base your decision on. Rather, ask yourself if you are tired of Middle-Earth yet and wish to dwell in the peaceful lands beyond, or if you want to stay on here."

He considered. "I would like," he said slowly, "to see these lands free from the Dark Lord, even if Beleriand is no more. But the idea of staying here without you is simply too painful."

Galadriel exchanged a long look with Celeborn over Artanáro's shoulder, a look that only confirmed what both already knew, being intimately acquainted with each other's minds. There was no question, really.

Turning back to her nephew, she said: "You need not have that fear, beloved. I will not leave Middle-Earth in near future."

Artanáro smiled, relieved. "Then that is decided," he said. "After all, I can always depart later."

Yes, and what a glorious thought that freedom was. Dizzying. The chance to see them all again, her mother, the Vanyar, the Valar, Lord Olórin...and Itarillë and Elwing and Ingoldo...and all those who have not yet come back...the joy of that was impossible to express. Thinking of it, she laughed again.

There were a few others left whom she wanted to ask about their plans, and the first of those was Elrond, who stood in silence next to them until now.

"And you, beloved?" She asked him. "Will you go."

But Elrond's decision, it seemed, was even clearer than Artanáro's. "To me, as well, you have been as a mother, and I have few memories of my own – and even fewer of my father. I look forwards to meeting them one day, as well as my grandparents, but I, too, want to see Middle-Earth without the Enemy. And most importantly of all, my brother could not follow me beyond the sea, so as long as he lives, I will stay. We will be separated for ages in the end," he added bitterly, "but why hasten it?"

Galadriel gave another embrace. "Have strength," she said, "and pray that the One makes that burden easier for you."

She did not answer his unasked question: 'But why do I have to carry it at all?' For truly, Elros' situation was the easier one, but his brother tried to keep his grief from him, to avoid spoiling the joy of his love.

She stayed with Elrond for a while after this, to keep him company, but then prepared to travel south to where the survivors from Balar were gathered, to speak with others whose choice she wished to know, and of which she was more afraid.

Lady Ernil had determined to go. "I've endured the last almost century," she said. "This is a lifeline to me." She hesitated. "I wish...I wish I could convince Oropher and Amdír to go with me, but they're too bitter against the Valar, blaming them for not coming sooner, for not preventing the deaths of our kin...and I'm too tired to argue."

Midhel, too, was decided. "It's more than I've ever hoped for," she said, "and now that the possibility is before me, I find that I desire it even more. I can't stay a year more than I must."

Galadriel turned to Tyelperinquar, and he sighed. "I don't wish to leave Mother," he said, "and yet...the West holds no attraction to me."

"I told you to stay," Midhel said tiredly. "I have faith that my father and brother'll await me there at least, if not my sister as well. I won't be alone. You don't have to go for my sake."

Galadriel could see how torn the young elf was, and said: "If you wish to be more certain, I can take you to meet my father, or Arolwe, my mother's brother. Then you'd at least know some who'd be with you in the West for certain."

Midhel hesitatingly accepted, a little nervous to be introduced to these great lords of the West, and Galadriel could feel Tyelperinquar's relief. If his mother liked the company, if she felt safe with them, well, then he would perhaps be willing to let her go.

And so Galadriel took them to her father's ship and made the introductions, knowing all the while that the difficult part, for her, was approaching.

Her father embraced her in celebration of their victory. "You have done very well, I have heard," he said, "and I am proud of you. Not that I ever doubted."

Galadriel smiled. It was strange hearing praise from her father after so many years of being on her own and fully independent of him. It did not, she found, mean as much as it once would have. She was chiefly happy that he was alive, and could return to Mother.

He was as courteous and kind to Midhel as he always was to everyone, and told them he would happily take her on the ship with him and see to it personally that she was well settled.

"What are your hopes of the West?"

"Healing," she said, her Quenya a little broken but easy enough to understand, from those years in Himlad when she could communicate by nothing else. "Beyond that...it is long since I could freely walk a forest in safety, or an open land. I miss that."

"Well, I am not the right companion for such interests, I fear, but my daughter will surely gladly show you what natural beauties are to be found in Aman."

Galadriel did not reply, but she left her mind wide open, and her father gradually realized why she was silent.

"Artanis..." he said, "you cannot be serious. Please, child, come back with me. Lords of the West will forgive you, they promised, and your mother and brother are waiting there for you, and your friends..."

"But do you not see, father?" She asked as Midhel and Tyelperinquar stepped as far away from them as the ship allowed, to give them privacy. "This, finally, is my chance, this is what I left Aman for. Middle-Earth without the Enemy, and I free to establish a kingdom of my own, now that I know something about kingship. And Elrond and Elros and Artanáro are all staying, and they are like my children, I could not leave them. Celeborn, too, wishes to stay longer in Middle-Earth. You have Ingoldo to keep you company; and I will join you in time."

Seeing the grief in her father's eyes, she turned away. Why, why were there so many hard choices?

"I promised your mother I would bring you back," he father said.

Galadriel smiled sadly. "You should not have done that. It appears you have forgotten how headstrong I am." She paused. "I trust Valar will let Angaráto roam Aman freely soon, and he will console her. You know he was always the closest to her heart."

"Child, you know your mother loves you dearly."

"Oh, do not think, father, that I refuse to go because I fear I would not be welcome. No, it is my dreams and my love that holds me here, not fear."

In that moment, she felt someone approach, and when Galadriel turned, she bowed very low, for there was Lady Ilmarë standing in front of her. "My lady," The Nolde said. "I was not aware you were one of the host that came to Middle-Earth."

"I was sent to speak to you," Lady Ilmarë replied, "by Queen Varda."

Upon hearing this, Galadriel knelt, asking the Queen for forgiveness of her transgressions. Ilmarë smiled at her. "And are you sorry?" She asked.

Galadriel swallowed. "I am sorry if I contributed in any indirect way to the death of any, be it in Alqualondë, in the Ice, or later in Middle-Earth. I am sorry if I contributed in any way to the suffering our people had to go through in the Ice, and later."

"But you are not sorry you left," Ilmarë remarked.

Galadriel looked away, and the Maia smiled again. "The Queen did not expect you would be, and that is the message I bear for you: that as long as you are not, you are not welcome back to Aman."

Galadriel had not expected this, and her eyes widened in shock and humiliation. Despite her best effort, a little of her sudden resentment showed as she said: "And yet you smile when you deliver such news, my lady."

"Did you plan to return with your father?" Ilmarë replied.

"No," Galadriel admitted.

"Then why should I be saddened?" And with that, Ilmarë turned and left, leaving the elven lady behind, humbled and humiliated.

"My child," her father said, grief in his voice, approaching her.

"Give my regards to friends and family, as well as to Lady Estë and Lord Olórin," she said quickly and then speedily left the ship. She needed Celeborn now, and no one else.

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AN: Yes, that _was_ a bit of film canon in there, with Thranduil. Just because that's one piece of film canon that I really liked.

Also, there are many versions of why Galadriel stayed. The Silmarillion doesn't make it clear, and The Unfinished Tales offer the version where she is banned from going back, the version where she rejects the pardon, and the version where there is no ban and it is just her decision. I made a sort of a compromise between all of these, since even though I mostly regard The Silmarillion as my canon here, I did not like to ignore her first lament ('I sang of leaves') from Lórien – it's too beautiful for that – and that makes it pretty clear that she believes there is some kind of problem.


	36. New

AN: We made it to the end of Firs Age, yay!

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 **Chapter 36: New**

 _Year 1 of the Second Age, remnants of Ossiriand_

All ships have departed, and Galadriel stood alone on the beach, looking into distance, her heart aching. She asked everyone to leave her and spent many hours in silent contemplation, before finally turning back to walk to the camp.

She managed only a few steps before astonishment halted her, for there, a little down the beach from her, stood Lord Laurefindil.

She approached him, still unsure if her eyes were not deceiving her, and he bowed. "My lady," he said.

"Lord Laurefindil. You have not...departed?"

He smiled, but only very slightly. "As you can see."

"Why?" She asked bluntly.

"My lady, as you know, my loyalty has always been to the house of Turukáno. Its heirs are to be found here."

"Yet they are to be found in Aman as well."

"True, but they require my assistance rather less in Aman, would you not agree? At any rate, Ehtelion returned there to be of service to Itarillë. My choice was to remain here, to help her grandchildren – or grandson, I should say, as Lord Elros' choice will likely prevent me from helping him for long."

"Your sacrifice is...noble, my lord."

"Why? How does it differ from yours?"

She smiled bitterly, but felt no particular need to make it public that she was banned from returning. "I stayed chiefly for my own ambition," she said instead.

Lord Laurefindil, however, shook his head. "It might have been one of your chiefest motivations," he said, "but, my lady, you have not founded your own realm once you came to Middle-Earth, against everyone. Instead, you helped where you could, with advice and healing. You will forgive me if I do not see your ambition as so all-embracing, then."

She sighed. "It is more complicated than that, but I thank you for your trust, Lord Laurefindil."

They turned to walk to the camp together. "Will you not miss Itarillë?" She asked.

"I will," he admitted easily. "But while I would dare to say that we became friends during our years in Ondolindë-"

"No need to be so very careful," Galadriel interrupted him with a smile. "I know you did, and she spoke about you as a friend without reservation. The best friend she could wish for, in fact."

He inclined his head. "I am honoured," he said. "But all the same, as much as we became friends, she was my king's daughter and my princess first and foremost, and I am bound to her family by duty before I am bound to her by friendship. I am needed here more."

Galadriel gave him a look. "What did she tell you when you presented her with your reasoning."

He hesitated. "I...had not made up my mind fully when I was leaving, so I could not tell her. I wrote her a letter and sent it with my father."

Galadriel was deeply amused. She herself wrote many such letters, to all friends and family she had beyond the Sea, and had a feeling that his would be deemed about as good a substitute for his personal presence as hers would be. "You better hope that you will have a long life here," she said, "for I fear your reception in Aman will not be pleasant."

He chuckled, then grew serious. "You do not...disapprove of my choice?"

"No. How could I? I love Elros and Elrond deeply, and am happy they have faithful protection in you. And this way, I benefit from your company as well."

"Once again, I am honoured."

"I just hope she will not be too lonely," Galadriel continued. "But she has Tuor and Aunt Anairë, and her son and Elwing, and her mother must surely return soon from the Halls of Mandos...and her Vanyar friends, too, are there. Though I am not certain...well. It will be difficult in a way, I think, to renew her close friendship with those who have never left Aman."

"For her, yes," he agreed. "Those who go through the Halls are freed from the burdens of their past life in many ways, and so it is easier, but...yes, for her, it might not be. But as you have said, she has Lord Tuor by her side. And...I do not know this for certain, but something she had said leads me to believe that Lord Olórin intends to keep her company."

Galadriel's face brightened. "Truly? That is wonderful news."

"Yes. She also often walks with Lady Vána, and Lady Estë as well, as I have told you before."

Galadriel took a deep breath to calm herself. Were such things to be forever forbidden to her? "I am glad for her," she said aloud. "I am sure that in company of the Great Ladies, my absence will be borne easily."

"I do not believe so," Lord Laurefindil replied, "but more easily than without it, yes."

There was a short silence. "And Lord Ehtelion?" She asked curiously then. "Will he keep her company as well?"

"He will be loyal to her," Lord Laurefindil replied, "but he is not...a personal friend. He never has been, not to her."

"But to you, if I remember it well. Will you not miss him?"

"One more person to miss does not change my duty."

"I wish I had your resolve, Lord Laurefindil."

"I am sure you have even more, my lady. You told me some stories during the war and some I have heard elsewhere, but I do not know all. Is it true that you saved most of the healers from Hithlum?"

And so Galadriel retold that tale, trying to keep her persisting pain over the Battle of Unnumbered Tears at bay, and talking, they arrived to the tents that housed the remaining elves for now. Artanáro welcomed her. "Uncle, Lord Ciryatan, Tyelperinquar and the twins are waiting for you in the dining hall," he said, using a very noble name for the biggest tent. "They wished to discuss the future." Then he noticed Lord Laurefindil, and stared. "But I thought you have departed!" He exclaimed.

"No," the golden Noldo said, stepping forward, and knelt. "I had been here until now as a subject of High King Arafinwë, but now that I chose to stay, my loyalty is to you, my king."

Artanáro shook his head. "This is one of the things we will have to discuss," he muttered. "It is absurd that I should be king and elves such as Lord Laurefindil should kneel before me. Rise, my lord, and you are of course welcome to join us for the discussion."

They entered the tent and all present greeted them with surprise, only Tyelperinquar turned his eyes to Lord Laurefindil questioningly, and Galadriel shook her head, a little bewildered. They have never met!

"Celebrimbor," she said, "allow me to introduce Lord Glorfindel, the Chief of the House of the Golden Flower, a House sworn to Turgon and his line, and one of Gondolin's captains when it still stood."

"Lord Glorfindel? But I thought..."

"Yes; he died defending Idril's escape, and after Valar allowed him to come back from Mandos, he returned to fight the Enemy and decided to stay in Middle-Earth. And Lord Glorfindel, allow me to introduce Celebrimbor..." She hesitated a little. "Kin to me as well as to Celeborn," she finished.

Tyelperinquar smiled, a little bitterly, a little sarcastically. "At least in this tent," he said, "there should, I think, be no secrets. My father was Curufin, son of Feanor," and though Lord Laurefindil tried to mask it, Galadriel saw him recoil a little, for he knew the tales of those who survived the last two kinslayings, and the history of Lúthien and Beren. "I rejected him, however," Tyelperinquar continued, "for the way he treated King Finrod of Nargothrond and contributed to his death, as well as what he did to my mother." The idea of no secrets evidently went only so far. Not that Galadriel blamed him, and Lord Laurefindil evidently knew better than to ask. He knew the story of Irissë better than most, after all.

There was a short silence after this exchange, then Artanáro began. "So," he said, "what now?"

"Well," Galadriel said with a mischievous smile, "you should tell us. You're the king, after all."

He frowned at her, and she grew serious. "It's the truth," she said. "Until now you have mostly only held it in form, but now the time has come to assume true royal duties."

"That title," he returned, "should have been yours years ago, as I've said before. Both according to wisdom and power, no offence to Lord Turgon," he added, sending a look in Lord Laurefindil's direction.

The golden-haired elf only smiled. "My king never wanted it," he replied. His Sindarin was a little accented, but not hard to understand. "He only ever saw himself as the ruler of Gondolin. I'm not offended, because he wouldn't be."

"Thank you for your regard, Artanáro," Galadriel returned to the main point, "but that changes nothing. Some elves might follow me now, if I found a realm of my own, but I can never be regarded as the bearer of the kingship. You'd have forfeited the responsibility had you left, for my father rules beyond the sea, but here, you're the king."

"Do you truly mind so much?" Lord Laurefindil asked him.

"I don't mind being king, no – I've had the best teacher, and so I believe I'm as prepared as I can be. What I truly mind is that I believe there are those who'd be better suited for the role, my aunt chiefest among them, and they won't be given the opportunity."

"We've already discussed this when you inherited the crown, beloved," Galadriel replied. "You remind me of my uncle. He told me something similar once." She smiled at the memory.

"King Fingolfin? Truly?"

Celeborn laughed. "I see you didn't trust your aunt quite as much as you seemed to, given your surprise."

"No, it's only...if King Fingolfin felt the same way, it makes me suddenly consider myself more fit for the role."

"Don't get ahead of yourself," Celeborn commented drily, "who said your Aunt ever thought he was fit for it?"

Galadriel shook her head. "Certainly the most fitting, the most competent High King we have ever had, even though you know we had our disputes. But I do hope that Rodnor might prove even better."

In response to that, her nephew could only blush.

"But this discussion is fruitless," she added. "Like Fingolfin before you, you can't change what the Noldor expect of you, and what they don't expect of me. The question is, what will you do with the kingship?"

"That's what I wanted to ask you," he admitted. "We have to start anew, and you have experience with that – as does Lord Círdan, and, I assume, Lord Glorfindel."

"Lady Galadriel is your best resource," the Noldorin lord replied. "She was the one who effectively organized the building of Hithlum, while we waged war."

"I'll of course help in any way I can, in this as in anything. Lord Círdan?"

"I as well, naturally, but I fear I'm more skilled in building ships than cities; others did that in Falas, and they're dead or gone West now."

Galadriel accepted that it was going to be chiefly her responsibility with a nod, and turning to Artanáro, asked: "Do you know where you want to settle?"

"Another thing to consult, but I've been thinking...well, I've learned to love the sea, in our years in New Havens and then at Balar. I also loved the years spent in Tol Galen, and we are now in the remnants of Ossiriand, are we not? Besides, it seems right to me to have my seat facing West, where the Light dwells. So...could I build my seat here? We could have havens nearby in one of the new gulfs," he added, turning to Lord Ciryatan.

Galadriel contemplated the idea. "I understand your reasons," she said, "and I partly agree with them, but having a seat here will also put you at a distance from all the rest of Middle-Earth, which will be behind the mountains. And yet this is where our future lies, given that we've decided to stay."

Artanáro was forced to admit that was true, and was considering the idea of a more central location, when Elros spoke. "I don't feel quite worthy," he said, "to be invited to such a wise council, but I have some news for you at least, I believe. I spoke with Lord Eönwë and he said that to those of Men who fought against the Nameless One will be given the option to live on an island that will be raised for them in the seas, halfway between Aman and Middle-earth. As far as I know, all of the surviving Edain intend to accept this offer." He looked away for a moment, and as his brother pressed his hand in support, he added: "I'm to be the king of the new land."

Galadriel masked her surprise at this decision. "That's a great honour, beloved, my congratulations," she said instead. "And it changes things, too. In light of this, I think Artanáro's idea has great merit. We'd be close to you, and in the last remnants of the lands we so loved, and facing the West. I still don't quite like how it seems we're turning our back on Middle-Earth, but we can't be everywhere, and I much prefer it to turning my back on you."

"We'll think on it in more detail later and come up with a solution," Celeborn reassured her. "But it's good to have a place to start."

"We'll need to send scouts to map these remnants of Ossiriand, to make sure we know the best place to build our new capital. That should be started as soon as possible. Once we have that, we can make all the other decisions as regards construction."

Artanáro nodded his agreement, and Lord Laurefindil said: "That is the matter of the Noldor settled, then. What of the Sindar? I don't know the royal line, who's the heir to High Kingship?"

"Elrond is," Galadriel replied immediately, but the young elf shook his head. "I shan't claim it," he said. "At any rate I don't believe I'd be well received. I've always lived with the Noldor mostly, and I have their habits, though very little actual Noldorin blood."

"But if you relinquish your claim..." Galadriel hesitated, and then she started to laugh.

"What is it?" Lord Laurefindil asked, confused, but Artanáro was smirking already too.

"Well, then the kingship'd pass to my husband," Galadriel explained. Lord Laurefindil still seemed confused, and so she continued: "Since Elros will be the king of the new land, there are no more eligible descendants of Thingol. But he had a younger brother, Lord Elmo, who died during the Sack of Doriath, together with his son, Galadhon. Galadhon was Celeborn's father."

Celeborn, however, only smiled a slightly bitter smile. "I won't claim it either, for like Elrond, I have some doubts about the reception. I'm seen by many as excessively Noldor-influenced as well."

"Are you simply going to let Oropher claim it, then?" That was a truly horrifying thought.

Celeborn frowned at the idea. "I don't believe he shall," he said slowly. "If I thought he was so inclined, I'd feel obliged to contest it, yes, but at this point I believe it'd be best if the title remained unclaimed."

He turned to Lord Ciryatan: "What do you and your people intend?"

"Well, I'll certainly not proclaim myself king," the lord said with a smile. "I'd like to build new havens on this shore, and new ships in them – given the plans I've just heard it seems it'd be under the protection of the new Noldorin realm, and I'd be very grateful if it was so."

"We'd be honoured to have you, my lord," Artanáro said respectfully.

"The question of the Sindar from Doriath remains unresolved though," Galadriel reminded them. "They've lived under Lady Ernil's authority for decades, at Balar. Now that she's gone..." Celeborn had wept over his grandmother's departure, his pain accentuated by the knowledge that he was alone now, that of his family, only Oropher and Amdír remained, and their sons. And Oropher barely spoke to him. "I believe they're used to looking to you for command in her absence," she told her husband, "but regard Elros and Elrond as an important symbol."

"Yes," he agreed. "I don't, in fact, agree with Elrond's assessment that he wouldn't be accepted." He turned to the young lord. "In my grandmother's absence, I'm the quintessential Chief Councillor. You are the king. But it's of course your prerogative to reject the title. Still, what you do will remain important for what our people decide."

"I'll stay in this new kingdom, certainly, if it's on the coast and close to my brother's realm."

"And will you ask your people to stay also?"

"They can do what they wish."

Galadriel sighed. "Beloved," she said, "I know you're not used to this role and perhaps don't desire it," so much like Itarillë, she thought, "but people wish for leadership."

"It's true, my lord," Lord Laurefindil added. "They'll look up to you."

Elrond looked around the room, and when he found agreement in all of their faces, he said: "Very well. I'll tell them that, as little of elves as is left, we should stay all together, and that I'll remain in Rodnor's realm for now and not claim the title of king, given that there are truly very few Sindar of Doriath remaining...and that I'd...wish for my people to remain with me, if that's their desire. Surely if Lord Círdan chooses to stay in Rodnor's realm as well, it won't be seen as too problematic a decision?"

"I'll try to make it easier for you," Artanáro said. "I have no ambition to call myself the king of all elves, but I'd like my realm to be like that, to not be only a Noldorin thing. Nargothrond worked that way, a little, and it was a happy kingdom for a long time."

"It was a happy kingdom, but the king and all in the council were Noldor, let's not forget that," Galadriel said. "The Sindar lived there in peace and with respect, but they never governed it. Many' will remember that if you make this comparison, and some will also say that you are, in fact, trying to become the king of all elves."

"You mean Oropher," Celeborn said. "Let's be plain. I wouldn't worry about him too much. He's mostly pitied these days, not truly listened to."

"Not in all he says," Artanáro agreed, "but still, from what Thranduil tells me...at least part of his suspicions and aversions are shared by others, and Aunt Galadriel is right that they'll rise this objection against me. It can't be helped, I suppose."

"Aren't you half Sinda, my king?" Lord Laurefindil asked. "I seem to remember hearing it somewhere..."

Artanáro chuckled. "A quarter, to be more precise," he said, "and it's clear you didn't know my supposedly Sindarin mother. She was more Noldorin than most Noldor. So was my theoretically wholly Sindarin grandfather, come to think of it."

"Well, to be fair," Galadriel said, "your supposedly Noldorin father was more Sindarin – or Telerin – than many Sindar I know, too, and so was your grandfather my brother. So claiming your Sindarin blood wouldn't be a falsehood, exactly."

"It's true that if Lord Círdan's people join us, there'll likely be more Sindar in the realm than Noldor, or at least an equal number. Hmm. I'll have to think this through."

"You'd have to decide many things in such a case," Celeborn observed. "In the matter of language, culture, customs...who would get precedence, the Noldor or the Sindar?"

"Surely that can be left to the elves in question? Anyone can follow whichever customs they want. There are no Noldor left who don't speak Sindarin, so it's not that my people wouldn't be able to speak with me or my advisers."

"But when you speak to them, what language will you speak in? And even with culture and customs, there might be problems."

"Yes," Lord Ciryatan agreed, sounding almost hesitant, something unusual with him. As if he was speaking against his will or better judgement. "In fact, I can think of one which...would almost certainly arise. There are some things that could be deemed...offensive by one part of your realm."

"Offensive? The Noldor and the Sindar have lived together in New Havens and at Balar for years. I don't believe it'd suddenly become a problem."

Lord Ciryatan gave Celeborn a long look, and the younger Sinda inclined his head with what appeared to be even more unwillingness. "I believe I know what Lord Círdan means," he said, "and it could, truly, be difficult to accept for some of the Sindar."

Galadriel was confused, and she looked into Celeborn's mind to find come clues. What she found was an image of Beleg and Mablung together. Could this be about how Select couples were more frequent among the Noldor? But how would that be offensive to anyone?

"What is this mysterious matter?" Tyelperinquar asked impatiently.

"Perhaps it's better discussed in a smaller group, or at a later date?" Lord Ciryatan suggested.

"We will, then," Artanáro said, clearly equally confused as Galadriel. Then he turned to her and asked: "And what about you, what do you plan?"

"Well, I do count myself among the Noldor, even though my husband is Sindarin."

"Don't tease me, Aunt," Artanáro said, though he was smiling.

"Very well. At this point, I'll remain here in your kingdom and help you build it. After that's done, and once you're secure in your role as king and I'm confident that you'll manage without me, I may go and find a place to have a realm of my own."

"May?" Artanáro, still smiling, shook his head. "Aunt, if you don't, I'll use my royal authority and order you to. I know your dreams."

"And when have you ever known me to respect your royal authority? Don't think it'll be any different now that you might get an actual realm," Galadriel replied, with a smile as well.

"I'd never be so presumptuous."

They all laughed, and looked at each other, and when it seemed no one had any other important matters to raise, Galadriel, Artanáro and the two Sindarin lords took themselves apart to discuss the mysterious matter.

Lord Ciryatan, who first brought it up, seemed reluctant to speak now.

"It concerns the Strange," Celeborn said at length.

"Whom?" Artanáro asked in incomprehension.

"The...I believe you call them the Select."

"Oh. I had gathered so, yes, but...what does that have to do with Sindar being offended?"

"Therein lies the crux of the problem," Celeborn muttered, looking at Lord Ciryatan as if asking for help.

"There are...different customs regarding the Select, as you say, among the Sindar and the Noldor," the lord said at length, as if every word caused him some deep pain.

"Different customs? How so?" Galadriel found this statement strange. Was it possible she never noticed? "I thought there were simply less Select among you."

"No," Lord Ciryatan said slowly, still with the same air, "I think the number is roughly equal."

"Truly?" Celeborn seemed surprised. "I, too, have always thought it was exceptional among us."

This time, Lord Ciryatan flinched as if he had been personally offended. "I've...looked into the matter a little, recently," he said then, quietly, "and I don't believe so. It's only that the reception makes it less apparent."

"Reception?" Artanáro asked. Galadriel was equally at sea.

"It isn't quite..." Lord Ciryatan paused, looked at Celeborn, and shook his head. "Forgive me," he said then, "I find that I simply can't discuss it, not like this and in the present company. Perhaps alone with the King...but it won't be necessary. I'm sure Lord Celeborn can explain to your full satisfaction." And he was gone.

Galadriel sent another confused look after him, and then transferred it to Celeborn, who took a deep breath, as if preparing to jump. "I've always avoided speaking to you about this," he said, "because it's something that simply isn't done and because...well, for other reasons, but Rodnor needs to know about the problem, that's why Lord Círdan brought it up, however difficult it's to discuss. Among the Noldor, the Select live openly together, don't they? If I understand Noldorin customs correctly, the Select among you have wedding ceremonies and are regarded just the same as any...non-Select couple."

Galadriel was very surprised by the question, and one glance in Artanáro's direction confirmed that he was no less so. "Well, they don't have children," she said, "so the expectations are somewhat different – that's why they're called the Select – but apart from that, yes."

"I thought so, yes," Celeborn replied. "Among us, they...aren't. That's why Midhel told you that Beleg and Mablung were the worst kept secret of Doriath. It's never spoken about in public, much less celebrated in this way. When I realized what those couple I saw in your mind meant for the first time, I was shocked. It took me a very long time to come to terms with it enough that, while perhaps not being as comfortable with the matter as the Noldor, I'm no longer surprised in any way when I realized two elves I know are a couple in this sense. But I had your mind to guide me. Many from Doriath won't be comfortable with the Noldorin Select weddings taking place in this new realm. There were no weddings in New Havens, so they could still pretend the couples they saw were merely friendly, but this...it could become too much."

As he spoke, Galadriel's astonishment grew. To think that there was such a great difference in her and her husband's worlds, a difference she never knew about, a difference he must have actively kept from her...it was incredible, and it was also painful to accept. Where was trust, she wondered, where was intimacy? What did us resting in each other's mind even mean if we did not share all?

And, of course even more importantly, there was the matter of the Select themselves. Why were they denied this possibility to publicly express their love? What kind of strange and unjust custom it was? She was certain it must have been born in Thingol's mind – and now she remembered that Midhel had said Thingol did not like the idea of Beleg and Mablung together, and she, naive as she was, only thought it concerned the two of them in particular – but still, even for that king, it was incomprehensible. Why would anyone be offended by a public expression of love, one that did not cross any lines of decency? Sharing a bed in public would certainly be unacceptable, but this?

But Artanáro was there in his kingly function at the moment, and it was meant to be a political conversation, not a personal or ethical one, and so she pulled herself back to the surface of her thoughts for a while and said: "What you say is a very strange notion. I mean, Select weddings aren't only a matter of the Noldor. The Vanyar and the Teleri had them as well, in Aman."

"Truly? There were Select weddings in Aman? And Select couples living openly?"

This question amused Galadriel, in spite of how she felt otherwise. "Of course. What did you think my great-aunt and Lady Elemmírë were, if not wives?"

"I had assumed...close friends," he said in wonder, and Galadriel almost laughed. "It never occurred to me...well. That could, perhaps, change the approach of many of the Sindar, but ti would still take some time for them to get used to this new idea."

"I'm afraid I won't be able to give them that," Artanáro replied. "I believe I'm reasonably willing to accommodate, but I won't be party to any injustice, and this seems to me like a glaring case of such."

Celeborn sighed. "I did expect you'd see it that way, yes," he said. "I don't even entirely disagree. I merely wished to warn you."

"Consider me warned." He seemed to wish to say more, but Galadriel touched his mind with a soft request. She truly wished to speak with Celeborn alone as soon as possible. Surely the lenghty debate about political repercussions could be saved for another time? He gave her a look, and after a small hesitation, he simply nodded at them and left.

"Why have you never told me about this?" Galadriel asked Celeborn as soon as he was gone.

He sighed. "You lived in Doriath," he said. "I know you. You wouldn't be able to remain there in peace if you knew this, and merely leaving wouldn't have been enough for you as well. You'd have wished to change it, and...it wouldn't have ended well."

"That's quite a number of assumptions to make, and all to justify not telling me something so important!" Galadriel said in some animation.

"And are any of them false?" But then Celeborn sighed, and looked away. "Perhaps I was afraid, too."

"Afraid?"

"Yes, afraid that you'd reject my whole family and culture if I told you. I only realized this years into our marriage, and I simply..."

Galadriel frowned. "I love you. I'd never reject you, nor those who are dear to you, not entirely. But this lack of trust hurts me. Our minds are open to each other, Celeborn. It must have cost you much effort to hide this in the crevices of your mind, and yet you continued to do so through the centuries?"

He closed his eyes. "I'm sorry. You're right, I...I'm so sorry. I think that, in the last century or so, I was only keeping it secret because I feared admitting that I've been keeping something from you." He paused, and swallowed. "Can you forgive me?"

What an absurd question. "Of course I can forgive you." She took his hand in hers, and he kissed it. "I was...am...surprised, and hurt, but there's nothing I couldn't forgive you given enough time, my love."

"Enough time?"

"The way I feel won't simply change immediately because you told me you were sorry," she replied. "But hopefully, it will do so soon."

He embraced her, and they stood like that for a moment. Then Galadriel thought back to the Select Sindar of Doriath, who were denied a wedding ceremony or any form of recognition, and suddenly her own feeling of betrayal was a complete trifle. "To imagine," she said, shaking her head, "that injustice like this took place in the realm of Lady Melian...I asked her, once, if there were any Select couples in Doriath. She said no. Didn't she know?"

Celeborn thought about it. "Rather, I believe that she...well. The word you use concerns couples that have had a wedding, doesn't it? And there were none like that in Doriath. I can't imagine she wouldn't have known...if, as Lord Círdan says, there are so many."

"I don't know," Galadriel muttered. "I think there are many things she didn't really understand about her own realm. It's as your grandmother used to say."

She could feel the pain going through Celeborn's mind, but aloud, he only said: "Not to understand and not to know are two different things. I wonder about this...I very much wonder."

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AN: Alas for the cultural clashes that happen 500 years into your marriage.

The Noldor lived in Valinor for a very long time, so I figured there should be no room for such absurdly harmful cultural practices like homophobia to develop (I mean, sexism did develop, clearly, but still, it its mostly benevolent form and more restrained than it was in actual human societies, at least in theory). Somewhere else, on the other hand...

And, this should go without saying, but do not send me any homophobic reviews or PMs. If the presence of gay relationships makes it impossible for you to read this story, than that's your right, but I have zero interest in hearing about it in my inbox, and I won't change my mind about including it no matter what you write, so...


	37. Desire

**Chapter 37: Desire**

 _Year 8 of the Second Age, Lindon_

It was strange, Galadriel mused, that wedding customs of the Second born were so very similar to the elven ones.

She led Elros through the rows of guests in place of his mother and stopped in front of an elder – a humorous notion, that, since he was barely older than Elros himself – and they both turned and waited for Adanel to appear.

She looked beautiful, her pastel-coloured dress made in the Mannish style, but by the best elven seamstresses that remained in Middle-Earth, and her jewels borrowed for the occasion from among the remaining treasures of Narogrotto. Her blond hair shone in the sun as she approached, and Galadriel thought fleetingly of Itarillë. It was a pity none of her grandchildren inherited her golden hair, but perhaps through Adanel, a shade of them would live on.

Adanel's father released her to Elros and both he and Galadriel stepped aside, to allow the elder to start the ceremony. The vows were not as solemn as the elven ones, for the name of the One was not mentioned, but what they promised to each other was beautiful and eternal, and when they kissed to officially seal the marriage – a hint of the true sealing that would come later – they both shone with love and joy.

They had been impatient to marry for years, Galadriel knew. Especially Adanel. Originally, they wanted to wait until after their arrival to the island that had been promised to them, but when Elros realized how much more time the preparation to leave would require, they changed their mind. It was good they did, she thought. The Second born lived longer now, but they were not immortal.

The feast preceded the dancing with Men, so after Galadriel offered her heartfelt congratulations, she followed the newly married couple to the long, beautifully decorated tables set out not far away, under the open sky. She was seated between Elrond and Celeborn, and as the younger of the two elves watched his brother's pure bliss, he sighed and told her, very quietly: "Sometimes I envy him, just a little."

Galadriel pressed his hand. "You too will feel the flame or the One in time, my beloved, do not fear. I waited for over a thousand years for Celeborn – there will still be eternity before you after you find your love, so there is no need to hurry. Or are you lonely?"

"Not now," he admitted, "but once Elros leaves, I fear I will be. I know you are always by my side, Aunt, and I love you with all my heart, but..."

"But it is not quite the same? Do not worry, I understand. It is hard to match the intimacy you have with your twin brother, and at any rate, the difference in our age is great still. I am in many ways like your mother – and like your grandmother in others. You will need someone who can be simply a friend after your brother leaves." She smiled. "Artanáro, at least, is better in this way, is he not?" She asked, giving her great-nephew a look out of the corner of her eye. He was sitting on the other side of Celeborn and talking to him and Gildor at the moment, and hopefully not listening.

"Yes; though he is older, too, and of course...well, he is the High King."

"Surely you would not allow that to spoil your friendship?"

"No, no, I only meant...well, he is very busy."

Galadriel smirked at that. "Tell me if he does not make enough time for you, and I will give him a stern talking to."

Elrond laughed, and then his eyes roamed across the other guests at their table of honour. "There are others whom I could learn to spend time with, others whom I would like to get to know better. I admire Lord Ciryatan very much."

"Who would not admire Lord Ciryatan?" She returned with a smile. "Though understanding him is harder sometimes," she added, thinking of his new-found tendency to avoid her and to cut conversations with her short. He did it skilfully enough, but she still noticed.

"What do you mean?" Elrond asked, sounding surprised.

Galadriel had no wish to share that particular detail with Elrond. "His love for ships and sea, for example, is completely foreign to me," she said instead.

"Oh! Yes, there I am at a loss as well."

"Artanáro, I believe, understands him better in this. Perhaps he could explain the mysterious matter to us."

Elrond shrugged. "With me, it might be that I have never known anything but the sea, not outside of war, so I cannot appreciate it properly."

"Once this realm is established more firmly, we will go exploring together," Galadriel promised him.

Artanáro heard this last sentence, and said: "Are you trying to make a poor monarch jealous? I would love to go exploring with you, yet I fear I will not have the chance." He paused, and then he looked at Galadriel and shook his head, closing his eyes. "I apologize, Aunt," he said. "That was thoughtless of me."

She smiled at him. "No, no, it is of no matter. I am not bitter any more, truly, not now when I know we are free and I can, in fact, found my own realm. If something, I would be regretful for the past. And in any case it would never be bitterness against you – it would be...against the doom, I suppose."

"Not against the Noldor?"

"Is it the fault of those alive today that we have such laws and customs as we have? No. It was the doom I raged against." There was a short silence, then Galadriel said: "But I apologize for spoiling a wedding with such heavy topics."

Elrond chuckled. "I did that first, I believe."

Artanáro gave him a look full of understanding and said, this time in Sindarin and with an apologetic glamce to Celeborn for not doing so sooner: "Time to change the topic, then. While I know working at a wedding is scarcely acceptable, it's still the better alternative, so I'll ask: has Lord Círdan consulted with you about the havens he wants to build?"

"Yes, and it seems the perfect solution to me," Galadriel replied. "We looked for a way to be closer to the rest of Middle-Earth, and havens in the mouth of Lune are a great opportunity for that, as well as a very good location for a port – even though I have to trust him on that, of course. In provides us with the perfect entrance inland. It's going to be especially important given Oropher's decision to leave."

"Is it definite, then?"

"Effectively, yes," Celeborn answered for her. "He won't stay in a country ruled by the Noldor, the clan that butchered his family, where their twisted laws rule, and so on. They're waiting for Elros to depart, out of respect for the fact that he's a descendant of Dior -"

"I venture that wasn't Oropher's idea," Artanáro observed.

"Probably not, no. My guess would be Amdír convinced him, though he didn't say so directly. He...sees Oropher's folly, in some ways."

"Yet he still intends to leave?"

"Mostly out of love for Oropher, I think. That's what many of them are doing, anyway – they're loyal to Oropher and will follow him, even though they might not agree with him."

"It's their right, of course," Galadriel remarked.

"Yes," Artanáro agreed, "and most Sindar remain, in any case."

Celeborn nodded. "Even from Doriath, he doesn't have more than a half going with him. I think their gratefulness for the fact that you saved Elrond and Elros, my love, erased the doubts some of them had about whether more couldn't have been done during the Second Kinslaying."

"Even as some others see my departure with Maedhros and Maglor as proof of my complicity," Galadriel pointed out.

"Yes," Celeborn admitted. "But they are mostly those who've been set against you ever since our escape from Doriath, or even before. So except the very few who are extremely bitter, only those with personal ties to Oropher and Amdír are going."

Artanáro sighed. "I'll miss Thranduil, and even Amdír and Amroth I came to like, despite our many differences."

"What does Thranduil think about all this?" Galadriel asked him.

"He won't say anything directly – he's loyal to a fault – but he's uncomfortable with leaving for distant, wild lands under his father's leadership, I know he is. I worry about him. How will he fare, getting more strongly under Oropher's influence? It was miraculous he was saved from the dragon's flame; I don't wish for him to be lost to his father's dark moods."

"We have to trust in his strength, then. If he was strong enough to survive dragonfire, he should withstand his father's character as well."

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Lord Laurefindil danced readily enough at the wedding, laughing and being merry, but when Galadriel joined him on the floor in person, it seemed to her that his mind was not quite in the moment. She had observed such behaviour in him before, and she also knew he was hardly close to anyone in the new kingdom but her and perhaps Elrond and Artanáro. It worried her a little, especially combined with some of the things she had heard from the survivors of the Hidden City.

"You are rather pensive tonight, Lord Laurefindil," she observed.

He hesitated, then said: "I do not want to spoil the mood, but I shall be honest: I am thinking of the fate Lord Elros chose, and that he will never get to see the Blessed Lands."

"Do you miss them?" She asked, getting to her actual point. "I hope you do not regret staying."

"No," he said. "On the contrary, I find the new realm enchanting, and the new king as well. He reminds me of your uncle, King Ñolofinwë, and you know how well I liked him. And there is so much work to be done here, too. It is enough to keep me busy. I have little to miss."

"I am glad to hear it." She hesitated, but then decided that these things were always best tackled head on. "I heard some rumours, and though I of course try not to pay them any attention..."

He seemed amused. "What do they say about me?"

"That you left the West because you felt great admiration for Itarillë, and could not bear her being there with Tuor," she said plainly. She knew she could do so with him, and though rumours were, as a rule, almost impossible to stop, making their subject aware of them helped a little at least.

The information appeared to amuse Lord Laurefindil even more. "Will people not always assume this of any close friendship between a nis and a nér?" He asked. "Surely you have known this yourself." He seemed to think about it for a moment. "Although...perhaps not. Most of those close to you were your brothers or cousins, or like children to you, from what you have told me."

"It is true," she agreed. "Except for Lord Olórin. Kinship is no definite obstacle for attraction, of course, as I am certain you know, but it is true that there has not been a case of a true Flame being felt by such close relations, as far as I know."

"No," Lord Laurefindil agreed, "and so people do not tend to assume there would be any interest, it seems to me. I certainly never heard any rumour of you being in love with King Findekáno, or he with you. You escaped the idle talk, then."

"Of this sort, yes. I am glad it proves to be no more in your case as well."

"Indeed." He still appeared like he was barely preventing himself from laughing.

"Forgive me, but you seem excessively diverted. I understand the rumours are not true, but if they were, it would not have been a very humorous matter, and it was not impossible after all..."

"No, of course, you are right. It is only...Itarillë would have been very unlikely to catch my interest." At her still confused look, he added plainly: "I am one of the Select."

"Oh!" Now she started to smile as well. "Now I see why the idea was diverting." She paused, and another horrifying thought occurred to her. "It was not unrequited love for anyone else that drove you to stay here, was it?" He and Lord Ehtelion had always been close, but she had assumed that was seen as friendship on both sides…

"Valar, no!" He cried. "Do I require a tragic love to wish to remain?"

Galadriel shook her head. "I am sorry, no, of course not. It is perhaps because you are the only one, so people search for reasons why you, of all, should make this decision to come back here and stay. And I, personally, was surprised just now because...well, I do not mean to pry, but how do you know that you are of the Select? When you have not felt the Flame, I mean?"

"Well...there are attractions, beside true Flame. Appreciation for beauty."

"Certainly, but you can appreciate the beauty of both nissi and neri, can you not?"

"Well, yes, of course, but...there is a difference, is there not?"

"Not that I can observe."

He sighed. "Well, perhaps your mind is purer than mine, my lady. But at least theoretically, you must be aware that other elves have attractions beyond the Flame. That Dark Elf had a reason to ensnare Lady Irissë, and so had Turkafinwë with your friend Princess Lúthien."

Galadriel gave him a look out of the corner of her eye. "Well certainly I cannot say that I have ever felt the slightest inclination to kidnap anyone, so..."

He chuckled. "Do not tease me, my lady," he said. "I never have either, as I am sure you know, but I do understand what kind of feelings drove them. I have felt it a few times through my centuries, usually towards those older and more skilled than I was."

And Galadriel thought of Lord Olórin, and suddenly she did know. "Yes," she said. "I do see what you mean." It had never, to be honest, occurred to her to look at it in this light, because Lord Olórin was simply so outside the normal sphere of things...but the more she thought about it, the more sense it made. "But do you truly feel so only with the neri? I mean, it happened to me only once, and yes, it was a nér, but I do not know if that is significant..." She thought of Lady Arien. Was what she had felt towards that lady the same sort of admiration she had felt towards Lord Olórin, or different?

"Take it from me, then," Lord Laurefindil said. "There have been three or four such elves whom I have regarded in this way, and all have been neri."

Galadriel thought of what Celeborn had told her, about the injustice the Select faced in Doriath. Would Lord Laurefindil have been shunned by the king if he had lived there and expressed his admiration for another nér, she wondered? Or would Thingol have overlooked it for the benefit or keeping such a great warrior loyal to him? Had he known about Beleg and Mablung, and simply pretended he had not, for the sake of keeping them in his service?

"Now it is you who is pensive, my lady," Lord Laurefindil said with a smile.

"Forgive me, I am a bad dancing companion. You made me think."

"About?"

Galadriel did not much feel like telling Lord Laurefindil about Celeborn's revelation – no need to sow discord – so she said: "About whether I admired Lord Olórin the same way I admired Lady Arien."

He raised his eyebrows. "I do not recall hearing of such a case," he said, "but everything is possible, I suppose."

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They were gathered in the large house that had been built as a temporary palace for Artanáro before the actual one was completed, looking over the plans. "I don't have any particular wishes about the building itself, I think," Galadriel said, "except that I hope there will be enough balconies and terraces...but I would love to have some proper gardens."

"I will gladly put you in charge of that, Aunt, since I know absolutely nothing about it," Artanáro replied.

"Oh no, Celeborn'd be much better for that job. Or Amdír, if he could be convinced to help."

Celeborn seemed to consider her suggestion. "I'll ask him, and we can take care of the actual growing, but I'm sure you're better suited to design them."

"Idril would be," Galadriel muttered. "But I'll do my best. Perhaps Celebimbor will help?"

The young elf frowned. "I'll gladly do any work you want me to on decorating the palace interiors," he said, "but I'm not sure I'm the one to work on gardens."

"Don't worry," Artanáro said, "I'll certainly make use of your considerable skills. You're crucial for this whole project, in fact."

"Do you actually plan to do any work yourself?" Galadriel asked him with a raised eyebrow.

He puffed up his chest and said pompously: "I'm the High King! I have people for work."

"If you think you're too old to be spanked, you're sorely mistaken," Galadriel muttered, and Tyelperinquar smothered a laugh.

Artanáro just gave her an amused look and said: "Speaking of my kingship, and ways to punish me, do you still believe I should have an official coronation once the palace is complete?"

"Yes," Galadriel said immediately, and there were nods all around the table.

Artanáro sighed. "Very well," he said. "It still seems unnecessarily pompous to me, but I'll trust your advice. I have another, related idea I wished to discuss. It's about the official royal name I'll adopt."

"You're thinking of taking a new one?" Galadriel asked, surprised.

"Well...not exactly a new one, but...you know my mother gave me a name in Sindarin, feeling she should honour that heritage, but no one really ever used it because everyone always talked Quenya around me. I was thinking...Gil-Galad seems like a good name for a king, and...well, I think I'd feel better having a different name as king than the one my friends and family call me by. Also, it's...connected to another idea of mine, one I'm very uncertain about, but...what if I made the official language of the realm Sindarin?"

Galadriel had not expected his decision to go that way, and was struck speechless for a moment. Seeing her expression, he quickly said: "I know, I know, I'm the High King of the Noldor, but, well, I thought about what we said, that it could be regarded as in Nargothrond, where the Sindar lived without any share in the government, and I truly want to avoid that and make everyone feel at home here, as much as possible without compromising my own conscience...I very much feel that making Sindarin the language of the government would go a long way towards that. Everyone here can speak it, after all."

"No, no, you're right," Galadriel said slowly. "It's...not a bad idea. It's only that some of my experiences were...well. I was reminded of Thingol banning Quenya – though of course I know you are planning no such thing – and of Sindarin being spoken in Nargothrond under Túrin's influence. But my personal memories shouldn't influence your decision."

"The last thing I want is to make you uncomfortable, Aunt."

She smiled at him. "I lived in Doriath for centuries," she said. "I think I'll cope."

No one else had any substantial objections, and even Lord Laurefindil said that at least he would learn to speak it better more quickly, and so the idea was accepted and the council ended soon after that.

Tyelperinquar joined her as they were leaving. "Do you mind very much?" He asked.

"About the Sindarin, you mean? Not truly. It was mostly surprised, really. I have simply assumed that after living for so long in a Sindarin realm, I would now be in a Noldorin one with everything that includes."

"So have I, really," he admitted, "but there is an upside to it, I suppose." He sighed. "It will be a memory of my mother, of sorts."

Galadriel pressed his hand. "How are you?" She asked.

"Oh, I am well," he replied. "I miss her, of course, but at least she is happy, am I correct?" He paused. "I do wish I could truly know that. I mean, I wish I could speak to her, or at least receive letters from her."

"I know the feeling well," Galadriel agreed. "But if nothing else, now you can write _to_ her, next time someone chooses to sail. That is a comfort I did not have, for the longest time."

"I know, and truly, I am aware I should not complain. It was her who suffered, not I. It is simply that...I never expected her to leave, so I was surprised. She was always here before, as part of my life, the one constant through the years." He grimaced. "Himlad did not give itself to gaining friends."

"I would expect that, being the Lord's son, everyone treated you well enough."

He hesitated. "In a sense...it was strange. I could tell there was a mix of respect for my father and disdain for my mother in their behaviour to me, and, of course, that hardly made me want to talk to them much. I think that is one of the reasons why I became so good in the forge – there was nothing else to do. Narogrotto was better, I suppose, but even there many looked at me with suspicion because of who my father was. And then in New Havens, my mother was always so sad...I hardly had thoughts for anything else. And Balar was even worse."

"After the Third Kinslaying...yes, it must have been."

"Everyone thought Elwing was dead, and you know how she was such an important symbol of hope to them all those years there. Elros and Elrond, the same. Celeborn did tell them that he seemed to read that they were alive in your mind, but not many believed it. They feared to, I think. Feared to hope."

"And you, did you believe it?" Galadriel asked.

"Yes," he said immediately. "I believed in you. But it was not enough to make Mother better, or even Lady Ernil. She was like a ghost in those last years. The difference from my first years in Doriath...it was staggering."

"Well, they are both well now, and with my kin, I hope."

Tyelperinquar only gave a sigh in answer.

"Are you happy with your new forge?" Galadriel changed the topic.

"Mostly, yes. I mean, it is not quite the same as it was in Narogrotto, but I could hardly expect it to be, and I suppose that once the palace is built, I will get a better one."

"Do you plan to settle in the palace, then?"

He seemed taken aback. "Well, I assumed..."

"Of course you may do so," she hastened to reassure him, "it is only I was not sure you would wish to."

"I wish to be close to you, cousin."

Galadriel smiled slightly. "I am happy to hear it," she said, "and if you ever need any help, you can always turn to me."

"Thank you, but as I said, I am well, truly. If _you_ ever need _my_ help, I am at your disposal."

Her smile broadened. "That is kind of you to say," she stated.

"But you do not believe that could ever be the case." He sounded a little irate.

She sighed. "Tyelperinquar," she said, "you are about two hundred years old. I know it feels like many to you, but from my perspective...well, let me simply say that I fully trust your expertise on crafting, and will always consult you on all matters of that."

"I rather think I have been an adult since I rejected my father," he said defiantly.

Another sigh. "That was exceptionally brave of you, yes," she admitted, "but life is not made or unmade in a single decision, and neither is adulthood. It was an important step, an important step in the right direction, and you have made many more since then. I hope you will continue to do so."

"But I will never quite catch up with you on that road, will I?" He asked with bitterness, and turned away from the path they walked together.

Galadriel sighed for the third time. She heard an echo of her brothers' complaints in his, but there was a different twist to it, somehow, a twist she did not understand.

She shook her head and stopped to wait for Celeborn, who was walking a little behind her. "Celebrimbor seemed angry as he left," he observed as he reached her. "What happened?"

"He's upset I don't see him as my equal."

Celeborn raised his eyebrows. "Isn't he a little old for that? Didn't he notice until now?"

"Perhaps he didn't mind until now. He might have thought that after his mother leaves...I don't know. He has a difficult past, so I won't judge him for being a little silly, and I'd ask you that you don't either."

"No, of course not. I didn't mean it in badly." He smiled. "You're protective of him, just as you are of your other almost-children."

"I think perhaps less of him than of some others," Galadriel replied. "Maybe because I didn't know him when he was truly a child? But yes, I'm protective nevertheless. If someone should ever criticize him, it can only ever be me!"

They laughed, and there was a short silence before Galadriel took a deep breath and said, looking at the sea they had reached: "Speaking of children...the Enemy is defeated."

"Yes," Celeborn said carefully.

"I promised you once the evil was gone, we'd have a child."

"Do you _want_ to have a child, my love?"

She sighed. What a question. She had been gathering the strength to have this conversation for years now, and she would have preferred if Celeborn did not make it more difficult for her, even though she knew, of course, that that was not his intention. "I don't particularly desire it, but this is not only my decision to make," she said.

He took her hands. "I'd never force you."

"I know that, but it would hardly be fair of me to tell you that I suddenly changed my mind, would it? It's not a desire you can fulfil with someone else. I just..." She hesitated, but he could sense her conflict, so hiding it was pointless. "If it was up to me, I'd prefer for my child to be born in my own realm."

"Then we'll wait," he said simply.

She stepped closer to him and put her head on his shoulder. "Do you truly not mind, my love?" She asked.

"I would...find it hard to come to terms with never having a child, I admit that," he replied. "But waiting a few hundred years more for you is no hardship."


	38. Fears

**Chapter 38: Fears**

 _Year 31 of the Second Age, Grey Havens_

It took years for the Second born to be ready to depart, and yet it still seemed too early to Elrond. "I will come to visit you often, brother," Elros promised him, "and I invite you to come to The Land of the Gift as often as you can, too, for I will want to boast of my realm, I know." He smiled, and Galadriel had to push back the bitterness that threatened to come forward. _The Second born deserve this_ , she reminded herself. _The Valar are, belatedly, giving them what they gave us when they took us to Aman._

 _They did not hand-pick a king for us, though_ , she mused, and then tried to push away that thought as well. Elros did have the blood of Lords of the Second born in him, and it was not as if he was chosen as king against the Lords' will. They all agreed that, as someone descended from all three of their houses, he was the most fit for the role. Galadriel suspected it was convenient because it prevented them from fighting among themselves, too. And Elros had commanded their troops for many years in the war.

 _So the Valar choose him to be king of all the Second born, while you are not even judged fit to return to Aman. Why should you be bitter about that?_

Galadriel shook her head at herself. Elros had many fine qualities, as she knew better than most, and would be a good king. He was not, perhaps, as wise as Elrond, but he had more natural authority. He was not as wise as her, either, but then how had all of her wisdom helped her through the years? She let all the realms she had called home fall to the Enemy anyway. And now the Enemy was no more. There was no reason to worry for Elros' kingdom.

He came to her now, to bid his goodbye. They had not spent as much time together in the last decades as they might have wished to, for Elros was with his new people most of the time and the rest with his brother, and when they were together, it was chiefly for Elros' lessons on governance. But now he held her tightly as he embraced her, and she detected a small shake in his frame, making her all the more ashamed for her previous thoughts. "You have no reason to worry," she whispered into his ear as she held him. "You will be a good king, and your people love you."

"I simply feel like I do not know the first thing about ruling," he replied. "In spite of all you taught me. I wish you could go with me."

"Beloved..." She sighed. "Even as it is now, when you were raised by elves, it is bound to be displeasing to some of your people. If you took elven councillors..."

"I know, I know. You explained all of this, and I do see this, I truly do. It is only..." He paused, and then whispered even more quietly: "I am afraid. I am afraid of failing them."

 _Strange_ , Galadriel mused. _I have never been afraid of that_. She wondered if she would have, had she been granted kingship. She feared not. She scarcely ever lacked reassurance. "You will not," she said quietly, to Elros. She hesitated for a moment, but then pulled Ingoldo's ring from her finger and handed it to Elros.

He looked at her, wide-eyed. "Aunt..." He said. "What…?"

"This ring," she said, "belonged to my brother, and he gave it to your forefather as a sign of debt to be paid. Beren then called for this payment, and your grandfather returned the ring to me to, as a mark of the debt having been paid. It was, he said, to be a memory of friendship between our houses. I told him I needed no reminder of that, for the memory of his mother lives in my mind, and that would always be the best reminder. It was the truth. You, however...you will always remember me, I know, but what your your son, and grandson, and those who come after them? They will not know me as well. So let this ring truly be a reminder of the friendship between us, and let you keep if, if your descendants should need it to remember one day. I trust you, and them, to be good guardians of it."

He was moved, and after reluctantly accepting it, he held her in her arms again. "Now go," she muttered, "and bid the rest of your goodbyes."

Elros embraced all that were dear to him among the elves, and his brother he kept to the last. They held onto each other for a long time, and then Galadriel heard him whisper: "Pray for me, beloved." Elrond could only mutely nod, and then Elros boarded his ship, Adanel by his side, as sailed out of Grey Havens as the first of many.

The elves who were left behind stood and watched the ship for a long time, as it became smaller and smaller, until their eyes could no longer discern it. Then Elrond abruptly left, and the others walked slowly behind him, giving him his privacy.

Lord Ciryatan offered them hospitality in this house for the duration of their stay in the Havens, and so they all headed there, to get dressed for the bittersweet evening feast. They had drunk to the success of Elros' kingdom last night, and they would to so again today, and then ask the Valar in song to keep their eye on the new realm. _It is a little ironic_ , Galadriel mused. _The realm is a gift from the Valar. I am quite certain that its inhabitants are more in favour with them than we are, at the moment. Certainly more than I am._

Her thoughts were straying into the dangerous territory once again, and she sighed and went to embrace Celeborn, who was fastening his robes, from behind.

He pressed her hand. "You mind's heavy again, my love?" He asked.

"Not heavy," she returned, "bitter. That's worse."

"Well, you have some reason."

"Or the fact that I'm bitter in this way is the reason the Valar banned me from returning in the first place."

"You know my opinion on this," he returned, "and you know it's not what would calm the waters of your mind just at the moment."

"No," she admitted, and swept his hair away from his neck to kiss it.

He smiled, and turned in her arms. "Do you think Lord Círdan will miss us at the feast?" He asked.

"Not for a while yet," she replied.

They did make it to the feast, eventually, and took their places to an amused look from Artanáro and a slightly flushed one from Tyelperinquar. In many ways, Galadriel mused, he was still very young. Younger than Elrond, who did not seem fazed at all.

They sat to the other side of Lord Ciryatan than Artanáro for the first, more formal part of the evening, but later, when people started to mix together a little more, Galadriel went to talk to Elrond. She wanted to make sure he was well, or at least as well as might be expected in such circumstances. "It is fine," he assured. "It just feels like a...like the final confirmation. Of course I knew there was no going back since his wedding, but..." He hesitated. "How could you bear it, when you found out that your friend, my great-grandmother, would die?"

Galadriel thought back to the time. "It was different," she said. "For one, I had already thought she died when your great-grandfather was brought back from the hunt, and before that, I had thought she was captured by Moricotto once. When she woke from her death and I realized she was mortal, it was...on one hand, I was relieved that she was with me once again, and on the other, I was astonished that something like that was possible. There was little room left for grief."

"And later...when she died?" He asked very quietly.

"Lúthien was always different from other elves," Galadriel replied. "I chiefly grieved for myself, for in some ways, I believe her death was a release from the prison of this world for her."

"The same you say it will be for my brother, in time," he noted.

"Yes, though in a very different way."

"Different how?"

She thought about how to express this. "For your brother, the things of this world cannot hold his attention, he always searches for something behind them, something more, something else. Lúthien could spend days in contemplating these things. What pained her was that, within the constrains of this world and her body, she could not get...close enough, so to say. Could not touch them directly. That was why frustration with it sometimes overwhelmed her."

Elrond shook his head. "I do not understand," he admitted.

"No," Galadriel replied. "Neither did I, not fully, and I saw her mind."

A pang of longing for her friend went through Galadriel, and she drank from her goblet to wash it away. Elrond looked at her hand. "You gave my brother your ring," he said.

"My brother's ring," Galadriel corrected.

"Yes, of course. It is only that I have always seen it on your finger, ever since I could remember."

"I wore it in his memory, but...every time my eyes caught it, it was a sharp reminder of his absence. Now that I know he is alive and well again, I do not feel like it is my duty to honour him in this way any more, and it only hurts that I cannot be with him. I do not regret giving the ring to Elros, certainly. Hopefully, he will never need to give it away on an oath."

"No," Elros muttered. "He will need no oath to die."

Galadriel pressed his hand and touched his mind with calming thoughts. Would Elrond ever recover from this separation, she wondered.

She felt comfortable with leaving him only after Artanáro came to sit with them, and when she did, she found her original seat to be occupied by Arminas, who was deep in conversation with Lord Ciryatan. She remembered she had seen them so the day before as well, and smiled. She was very glad to see their close ties continued even in the new age. Friendship between the Noldor and the Sindar, she knew, had to be the future of this world.

With that thought it mind, she set out to corner one Sindarin lady that had been avoiding her for almost two centuries now.

She waited for her opportunity, and only when she knew Ambë could not run away easily, she approached. "My lady," the Sinda said, curtseying, but Galadriel saw she was looking for ways of escape.

"Won't you talk to me?" She asked.

"I..." Ambë hesitated, a guarded look to her. "What's there to say?"

"I like to think we were friends, before...my cousin. Surely we can return to that?"

The Sinda seemed to deflate, looking away, and as the mask of detachment fell from her face, it revealed grief underneath. "And you could forgive me?" She asked, swallowing.

Galadriel was genuinely confused. "Forgive you? What's there to forgive?"

"I...rejected him, and..." Ambë trailed off.

Galadriel shook her head. "He was at least as stubborn as you were, in this respect, if not more so."

"I blame myself," the Sinda admitted. "Ever since he died, I...perhaps if I'd accepted him, it'd have been different."

Galadriel thought about it. "It might have been worse," she said. "Even apart from the pain you'd have been in now...you know the last battle was Maedhros' idea. You'd have disliked it, I think, disliked him marching to war on the counsel of one of the sons of Feanor...yet he couldn't have let his closest friend do it alone."

"I thought you were his closest friend."

"Perhaps. It used to be the three of us, for a long time, in Aman. It was never quite the same afterwards, but Fingon and Maedhros remained close, very close. You'd have disliked that as well. Let's hope you have a brighter future together in Aman." _One Maedhros will be entirely unable to influence_. Galadriel felt a little chill go down her back at the terrible thought of eternity in the Halls of Mandos. _He deserves it,_ she reminded herself, but still sought another matter to think about. "You didn't consider sailing?" She asked Ambë.

"No. I wished to stay with my uncle, help him build his new havens. Perhaps in time...but I know no one except for Fingon across the Sea, and...the kinslayers will not, I believe, be released that quickly."

Instead of an answer, Galadriel embraced her.

"You know the king asked Uncle to sit on his council?" Ambë asked after a moment, when Galadriel let her go.

"Yes. I told him Lord Círdan would never accept. He values his havens too much."

"He does," Ambë agreed, "but he asked me to sit there in his place."

"Truly?" Galadriel smiled. "I'd be very happy if you did so. Will you accept?"

There was a slight pause, then: "Yes – in time. I want to stay a while longer, to see the havens completed, but then I'll come to the capital. I was...hesitating, before, because I didn't know...I feared to face you."

Galadriel sighed. "As I said, we've been friends before you even knew Fingon, though not as close as me and him. I resented that he came between us while he was still alive, and I'll not allow him to do so while he's gone. I'll be glad of your advice in the council, and for this chance for us to be together more."

Ambë smiled, the first fully genuine smile Galadriel saw in her for a long time. "So will I."

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Oropher waited only a day with his own departure, and the farewells there were much less warm. Dozens of Sindar were leaving with him, and most avoided Celeborn and Galadriel's eyes as they did so, and did not appear to be able to bear as much as glancing at Elrond.

Amdír did walk to Artanáro, however, and bowed to him seriously. Artanáro returned it with a nod of his head. "Take care of your cousin," he muttered.

"I'll do my best," Amdír replied. "After all, he has no one else to look after him left."

He spoke warmly to Celeborn, too, but his farewell to the rest of the party was much more formal, as was Oropher's, whose bow to Artanáro was scarcely a bow at all and who otherwise only deemed Lord Ciryatan and Celeborn worthy of more than a nod. In fact, his bow to Lord Ciryatan was deeper than that to Artanáro, no doubt intentionally. As for Celeborn, he turned to him and said: " _You_ would be welcome in my realm for a visit, Uncle."

"As long as it is offered in this manner," Celeborn replied in a hard voice behind which Galadriel could sense his anger, "I'll not avail myself of the privilege."

Oropher's face grew hard, and he turned away without a word, or as much as a nod to Galadriel.

His son was more reluctant to leave. He barely knew Galadriel and did not particularly like her, but he loved Artanáro well, and they embraced for a long moment. "I'll miss you," the High King said.

"And I you," Thranduil admitted, "but you know I have to go with my father."

Artanáro nodded. "I wouldn't keep you away," he said, and Galadriel heard Oropher snort, to which Thranduil gave a small sigh.

He embraced Celeborn next, and Amroth, too, exchanged warm goodbyes tinged with regret with the two lords before they all mounted their horses and set off, and in time, disappeared from sight as well, just as yesterday's party.

Artanáro took a deep breath. "So," he said. "It's up to us now."He turned to Lord Ciryatan, standing nearby. "I must say, my lord, you have done amazing work with your seat in these short decades _._ I've never been to Eglarest, but this is what I always imagined it to look like."

"You flatter me, my king, but I hope it'll be one day, perhaps, able to rival it, when we're done with building here. How go the finishing touches on the palace?"

"I'm very pleased with it," Artanáro replied as they walked back to Lord Ciryatan's house, "especially the way it overlooks both the western sea and the gulf. I value the symbolism."

"So do I," Galadriel agreed. She grew to love the place, even though she thought she would never be fully at home by the sea. "And it's truly beautiful, the building and the gardens, the way the cliffs became part of it...the best of our craftsmen worked there, and it shows."

"And did you build your house, my lady?" Lord Ciryatan asked her. "I remember how proud you were of that place in Hithlum."

Galadriel smiled in fond remembrance. "No," she said then. "I've had some say in what the palace looks like, and that's where I live. But I don't want to put my heart into a house here, when I still believe that I will depart to found my own realm in the future."

"I understand. Do you know where you'd like to settle?"

Galadriel had dreams, of course – detailed dreams of a beautiful realm waiting for her, with forests and mountains and flowers, with beautiful houses and a palace that overlooked it all. These dreams never left her, though they were more grounded in reality now than they had been when she was still a young girl in Aman. But she was no closer to knowing where they would materialize. She thought that, overly, that was better. Perhaps if she did, the temptation would be too great to simply go, instead of supporting her family, as she knew was her duty at the moment. "I haven't truly thought that far ahead," she said aloud, "but we'll send out scouts to map the realms to the east of these havens properly soon, and when I have more information, I might begin to decide. But there's still much time left till this comes to pass, and there's work to be done here first."

Lord Ciyatan inclined his head, and they separated to get get ready for a feast once more, the last one before the royal entourage would go back to the capital.

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It was not long until Galadriel had another opportunity to travel to Grey Havens. Strange news were coming from there – it seemed more and more dwarves were wandering around, putting the inhabitants on their guard and making them concentrate on building walls and going on patrols more than on other work necessary for the port. Galadriel did not like the idea that after the fall of the Enemy, in this new, bright age, free peoples of Middle-Earth would become each other's foes, but she did not forget Celeborn's family's fate. As much as she might speculate what Singollo did to provoke them, the dwarves of Nogrod slaughtered most fighters of Thousand Caves, and that could not be easily forgiven. And they did not know for certain that those dwarves that wandered about were not from the same city, of the same people. They could not know what they thought of that terrible crime. The Noldor in Artanáro's council did not consider this of much importance, but the Sindar were visibly upset by these news and fearing for the future of the new realm.

"We need to prepare to defend ourselves as well," Lalvon, one of the survivors from Dior's royal council, was saying. "We can't be caught off guard again."

"I'll go there," Galadriel said, "and discover what's the matter. I'm the only one among you who's ever had any friendly contact with dwarves."

Celeborn frowned. "My love..."

She pressed his hand: "I promise to be careful. I don't plan to enter Nogrod, even though they might've been decimated by the Ents and Green Elves. If they could slay Doriath's king in his own realm, I don't wish to speculate about what they could do in theirs. But this needs to be solved."

"I could go with you, my lady," Gildor offered. "I didn't have as much contact with the dwarves as you, I suppose, but my father helped your brother oversee the building of Nargothrond, as you know. I did know some."

Galadriel agreed. She'd be glad for the company.

As they set out for the journey, she mused that she knew others who slew Doriath's king in his own realm, and she spent years wandering in the wild with them, and even embraced them when she was bidding them goodbye. That did not make the deed right, of course, but she promised herself to try and not to judge the dwarves more harshly than she would have her cousins.

They went to Grey Havens, where Lord Ciryatan and Arminas told them more about the matter. "I try to calm my people," Lord Ciryatan said, "but it's difficult when I don't know anything for certain, when I don't understand what's happening...and I've hardly spoken to dwarves in my entire life. I was considering sending Armins, but he doesn't have much experience either. I's better that you go, my lady. It worries me that my people are falling victim to fear, as if the Enemy was still among us. I'll be glad to see it stop."

And so Galadriel and Gildor left the safety of the Havens to wander around, looking for dwarves. She was glad that in her years with Macalaurë in the wild, she learned something about hiding from him, even though it was not her natural talent; for now they walked the woods unseen, to any but a watchful elven eye.

It was not long until they encountered a small group of dwarves. What alarmed Galadriel, however, was that they were surrounded by a group of Lindon elves who looked very unfriendly, with swords out and pointing at the outnumbered dwarves. She hesitated only for a short while before she let herself be seen. Upon noticing her, the elves all bowed respectfully, but they did not turn their swords from the dwarves. Galadriel nodded at them and asked: "What happened here?"

"We caught them wandering our lands, my lady," one of the elves replied, "and they refused to respect our command to leave."

Galadriel looked at him sadly. "You're from Doriath, aren't you?"

He inclined his head. "My father died there, my lady."

Some wounds cut deep and hurt long. "I'll speak to them. You may go."

"My lady..."

Galadriel gave him a sharp look, and they dispersed, Gildor following after them unseen to make sure they truly left in peace. "Greetings," Galadriel said then, turning to the dwarves, "what makes you travel these lands?"

They muttered a little between themselves, then one of them said: "Is that forbidden to us now, to travel where we want?"

She smiled, but only very slightly. "No, but there are many of you nowadays on the roads, and the folk of Grey Havens grows preoccupied."

"And why should that matter to us?" The speaker asked challengingly.

"These lands are now under the protection of King Gil-Galad. He wants to know that they can be peacefully travelled by all," Galadriel explained patiently.

"And dwarves on his roads mean there is no longer peace, do they?"

She gave the speaking dwarf a long look. "I don't know your name," she said, "but mine is Galadriel, and I lived in Thousand Caves for long years, and my husband is Lord Celeborn of Doriath, the one whose family was slaughtered by dwarves. That's why we ask why are you moving in so great numbers across these lands. Because, in truth, many of us don't entirely trust that it's safe where you go, not if you are kin to those murderers, or perhaps even in sympathy with them. So, in name of Doriath's ruling family, I ask you: are you?"

The dwarves seemed a little taken aback. "We're of Belegost, and we had no part in the killings, and regard them as vile," their spokesman said.

"Then I'm glad I came across you and not your Nogrod relations." Galadriel considered them for a moment. "You might want to know," she said them, another pain flowing to the surface of her mind, "that my cousin Maedhros, who always spoke most highly of your kingdom, is dead."

They all respectfully bowed their heads upon hearing the news, and after the necessary period of silence was observed, Galadriel said: "Now allow me to ask again, so that I may calm the people of Lindon: why are there so many dwarves to be seen on the roads around Grey Havens in the last years?"

"The Blue Mountains were broken," the dwarf replied reluctantly after a moment, "and most of our mines destroyed. Many of us are travelling East, to join House of Durin in their realm in the Misty Mountains."

"Then I'm sorry for your loss, and wish you a safe journey, and prosperity to be found in your new home. And may I know with whom I had the honour of speaking?"

There was another clear hesitation, then: "I'm Sudri, son of Ai, the king of Belegost. You likely saved my life today, Lady, as well as that of my companions, and me and my family are in your debt. Should you ever need assistance from dwarves, I'm at your service."

"You travel with a very small retinue, my lord," Galadriel replied in great astonishment.

Sudri chuckled. "And you travel alone, yet if you're cousin to Lord Maedhros, you are of royal blood as well, not only wife to such."

"Yes, but I'm not an heir to any kingdom." A good thing that dwarves could not see minds, and so her anger about that remained hidden from them.

Sudri shrugged. "My father has other sons, and the lands are safe now that the Enemy is defeated – as long as the elves do not start attacking us, that is," he added, chuckling again.

"I don't believe they'd have actually hurt you, though I admit those from Doriath are growing more nervous by the day, and the sooner your migration is over, the easier it will be."

"You don't own these lands," he said, frowning again.

"No," Galadriel admitted, "and their fear is not just – it wasn't all dwarves that killed in Thousand Caves – yet it's real, and the sooner the migration is over, the sooner the risk of blood being spilled will pass. I'll speak to those from Doriath, and so will my husband, but we don't control them. You need to be on your guard."

"Are you not from Doriath as well?" Sudri asked challengingly. "Yet you seem to converse with us without fear, to see us as more that Thingol's killers."

Galadriel smiled at this, just a little. "I'm not from Doriath, no, though I lived there for many years, and been friendly to many dwarves passing through the capital. But I'm from the West, and a thing much greater that your small group – without wanting to cast any aspersions – would be required to scare me, for I have seen the Enemy through my Uncle's eyes."

She could see that the mention of Ñolofinwë's duel commanded respect, and they all only nodded.

"I'll return now and calm the king with my news," Galadriel added. "He'll be pleased."

"Do you have the new king's ear?" Sudri asked, and when Galadriel inclined her head, he seemed to consider. "Then let him know we wish for peace," he said after a moment, "and don't want to seed enmity in this newly free Middle-earth."

"I will tell him, and know that the same is true of us, however much some might still be controlled by fear. Fare well, Sudri, son of Ai, and may your journey be safe."

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AN: About the way Elros became king, I just want to emphasize that Galadriel was not there during those talks, and this is just her interpretation, from what Elros told her about it.


	39. Flame

AN: Warning: elven homophobia discussed in the second part. Also, end of April is here, so it'll be one chapter per week again from now on, every Thursday (roughly...).

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 **Chapter 39: Flame**

 _Year 90 of the Second Age, Grey Havens_

It was a long wait until Elros came for the first visit to Lindon after he became king, and it was made longer because he did not wish for Galadriel, or any other of his elven friends, to come to Númenórë just yet. Elrond travelled to his brother every year, and he brought back news and made it possible to exchange letters, but that was what Galadriel had to make do with for years.

She knew why it was, of course, and understood – what was more, Elros was partly acting on her advice. He was raised among elves, and he needed to show his people that he was fully one of them now. That meant he had to stay in Númenórë during the first years, and it was better if he did not have overly many elven visitors either. Galadriel accepted all of this, but she still missed him, and it hurt even more because she knew that the lost years were part of the very short life Elros had ahead of him now. Given all this, she could not help but think he could have received her in his realm before now.

But finally his ship appeared in Grey Havens, and he stepped out for a welcome.

He did not quite run, since the visit was somewhat official and his people on board were watching him, but he walked speedily towards her and held her in very tight embrace. "Aunt," he said. "I have missed you so much."

"And I you," she replied. "But some evils, I suppose, are necessary – or mostly so."

He smiled sheepishly. "Yes," he admitted, "it is impossible to keep anything from you. I did begin to consider inviting you a decade or so ago, but then I started to wish you would only come when the palace and the capital were completed, and you could see it in all its splendour. I confess my sins."

Galadriel shook her head. "This is your decision, beloved," she said, "and of course I understand you want to be proud of your realm. It is only that, as I have said, I missed you."

"I know. I promise to come here more often from now on, at least, but I could not have before."

Galadriel was well aware of that. He waited till the basis of his realm was firmly established, and until all of his children were grown. It was a good decision, and one of the many that showed he was a good ruler who put the needs of the realm before his own.

Elros went to embrace his brother, then gestured to the younger man who had disembarked the ship behind him. "Allow me," he said, "to introduce my oldest son, Vardamir."

"It is a great pleasure," Galadriel replied, smiling.

The younger man seemed mostly overwhelmed, and his eyes darted to Elrond as if in search of a rescue. Elrond smiled and stepped closer to him. "Welcome, Vardamir," he said. "Now finally you will be able to see all the things you longed for when you heard my tales. Would you like to meet Lord Ciryatan?"

Shyness warred with curiosity in the young prince for a time, but curiosity won and Elrond gestured to the other elf standing on the embankment. Soon, the three of them were in deep conversation and Elros turned to Galadriel once again. "My son," he said, "is a great scholar."

"Yes, so I have heard. Elrond loves him dearly."

"He does, and has helped him in his endeavours in many ways. I only worry that...well, he is to be king after me. I am not certain he has the nature for it."

Galadriel laughed. "You worry too early. Or do you hasten off this world already?"

"Not for a long while yet."

"Well then. Your son might still change, and if he does not, you have another son, do you not?"

He frowned. "Would you have me rob my eldest of his kingship?"

"If he is wise and he is not suited, he will not see it as robbing, but as a relief," Galadriel pointed out.

Elros smiled at this, a little. "Have you ever known a prince to see it thus?"

She thought back to all the princes she had known. "No," she admitted. "I do not believe I did, not fully. Artaresto never desired the rule nor enjoyed it, but even he never as much as considered giving up his kingship to Artanáro...though that might have been only because of me. But my father, I believe, would have in such a situation, and so would Angaráto."

"What sounds good in thought might well become distasteful in deed."

"You may be right, yes." She smiled at him. "I see you have grown truly wise in your absence."

He smiled back, but then said: "The crown weights heavily sometimes."

Galadriel's smile turned ironic: "Yes, I have heard it was so."

Elros looked immediately mortified: "Forgive me, I-"

She laughed. "No, no, it is fine. It is very kind of you to have so much regard for my hurt pride, but I swear it is the truth that it does not matter any more, and mostly when I complain now, I am jesting."

"Are the plans for your own realm progressing, then?" He asked.

"Not in the slightest," she answered cheerfully, the vision of her beautiful kingdom flashing through her mind. "We are glad that we have the lands of this realm mapped, we have but the most general idea of what lies beyond its borders. But there is no hurry."

"No, of course not." He shook his head. "I have only been gone half a century, and already I am forgetting. In Númenórë, there is hurry for everything."

Galadriel sighed. "Now I feel like _I_ should apologize."

He took her hand. "Do not, and trust me I am not bitter either, except perhaps about the fact that I will need to leave you and Elrond one day. I do not fear death as such, or dread it."

"It is...a relief to hear it," Galadriel admitted. "I was not sure..." He was raised by the elves and taught to always regard death as tragedy, and she had feared he would find it hard to face his own when it came. She remembered Bëor, and the resentment with which he spoke of death. The idea that Elros would live thought that terrified her.

"I think I might have feared it, at the beginning, a little," Elros admitted. "When I first made my choice. I mean, I found it difficult to see it as good. But now, in my kingdom...I see my people growing to two hundred years of age and choosing death, as a release from the pains and hardships of this world, I see them longing to meet The One. It helps me understand."

Galadriel nodded seriously. "Perhaps I should see that as well," she said. "It would help _me_ understand...and accept."

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It was evening, and the welcoming feast was in full swing, the mood universally joyful. Galadriel was sitting with Celeborn, Lord Laurefindil and Lord Ciryatan, and teasing the Noldo about his dedication to duty. "And what if you fell in love?" She asked. "Would you follow the elf of your heart even if it clashed with your obligation to Elrond?"

"I'm not sure I could even feel the Flame for someone if it was not in accordance with my duty," he replied, smiling.

"Whoever the elf of his choice was," Lord Ciryatan added, "surely she would understand that and be willing to accommodate it."

"Not she," Lord Laurefindil corrected him. "He. I'm one of the Select. But otherwise I agree with you."

Seeing the Sinda's expression, Galadriel frowned. "What is it?" She asked.

"Forgive me, my lady, only sometimes I forget how openly you Noldor speak of these things."

Galadriel sighed. "Was it equally bad in Falas? I had hoped it was only a matter of Doriath, because of Thingol's foolishness."

Lord Laurefindil seemed confused. "What was?"

"Oh, of course, you don't know." She hesitated. "It's quite terrible and will spoil your mood for the feast, I fear. I'd have really much preferred if you hadn't found out."

"Now you've only made me curious."

Celeborn answered for her, in a heavy tone of voice. "Celebrating weddings of the Select was not allowed in Doriath, and even making such a relationship public or speaking about it was discouraged."

Lord Laurefindil looked as astonished as she must have when she first learned of it, and as if he did not know whether to laugh or rage. To calm him a little, Galadriel took the word: "I actually thought, for centuries, that there were no Select among the Sindar – I had assumed it was because they have never been to Aman -"

Now it was Celeborn who seemed confused. "You believed it was connected to the Blessed Lands?"

Galadriel shrugged. "Well, I didn't know of any better explanation. We were never informed what the One's intention was with making some of us Select, but our tradition says that they were selected for a special purpose, that's why we use the word Select."

"Well, that's chiefly said about the ellith," Lord Laurefindil remarked.

"Yes, of course." She turned to Celeborn. "You see, the Select ellith won't have their own children, naturally, and so they're free to create things in the same way Noldorin ellyn are. It's said that the Select ellith are intended to create, that the works they make will be important in some way, as important as other ellith's children are." She smiled at the memory. "With Lady Elemmírë, at least, this is very easy to believe." For Lord Ciryatan, she explained: "She was the best bard among the Vanyar."

"It's less clearly understood with the ellyn," Lord Laurefindil added, "but it's generally assumed there's some purpose, too."

"In fact, your duty could be a brilliant example of that," Galadriel observed. "But, in any case, that's what our tradition says, and the Valar never contradicted it at least."

"From what I know, it seems there was quite a number of Select couples in Aman. Am I correct?" Lord Ciryatan asked.

Galadriel was caught off guard by the question. "Yes, of course, but – well, I'm surprised by you being so well informed." Celeborn certainly was not.

He hesitated. "Arminas told me."

"Oh, of course. Yes, it's entirely true. There were many Select couples everywhere I've ever dwelt, except for Doriath." She frowned at him. "Was Falas really the same?"

"Not quite," he replied slowly. "It wasn't shunned to quite the same degree, but it wasn't seen as equally valuable as non-Select relationships either, like it seems to be among the Noldor. There were no big weddings for the Select."

"Why?" Lord Laurefindil asked.

"Because such weddings were not seen a reason to celebrate," Lord Ciryatan said hesitatingly. "Such relationships, when they existed, were mostly kept to privacy of one's home. It was seen as a kind of...disability, I suppose. All knew such couples existed and who it was, but it was seen as in bad taste for them to display their love in public or discuss it, and weddings were simply a small, private matter for the closest friends and family, just a dinner that is a little more formal to mark the transition from single to married. If you told someone you were Select – Different, as we called it - the most likely reaction from them would be to pity you and say that they were sorry but that they hoped you can be happy nevertheless. Having a Select relationship wasn't seen as wrong, simply as something of lesser value."

"I still don't understand," Lord Laurefindil muttered.

"I don't think we can, not entirely," Galadriel agreed. "It's just so absurd to us. But it does seem very similar to Doriath, in spite of what you said, my lord."

Lord Ciryatan gave Celeborn a look. "Perhaps it might, from your point of view, yes," he agreed then. "To the Sindar, I believe every small difference mattered."

"And what did you think?" Lord Laurefindil asked the Sinda, a little sharply.

There was a bitter smile. "I used to think the same way as my people," he said, "but...not for a while, now. The Noldor have convinced me of their point of view."

"It's reassuring we brought something good to Middle-Earth at least," Galadriel muttered.

"There is something I've been wondering about for a long time, though," Lord Ciryatan said. "Do you know how this approach even occurred to your kin? Arminas doesn't know, and I don't remember any Select couples from the time of the Great Journey, though it's true that there were few enough marriages in the first place."

"I don't know either," Galadriel admitted. "It was always simply normal to me, it never occurred to me it hadn't always been this way."

"Well," Lord Laurefindil said slowly, "there were Select couples among the Maiar – though I suppose there is no sense in using the word about them, given that they don't have children – so perhaps that is what made our grandparents realize there was nothing wrong with it."

At the notion of Select couples among the Maiar, Celeborn's eyes got so wide Galadriel was a little afraid they would fall out of their sockets.

After they went to bed that night, he seemed hesitant about something, and at length, he said: "This evening...Lord Glorfindel mentioned hoping to feel the Flame one day. I...hesitate to ask you about this, but you told me to never keep a matter of this sort from you again, so...do you, as well, believe that the Select can feel the Flame?"

"Yes, of course. What did you think being a Select means, to the Noldor?"

He looked extremely uncomfortable. "Elves who...who feel attraction to...well, ellith to ellith and ellyn to ellyn."

"That, too, apparently, as I've discovered from Lord Glorfindel, but chiefly, it means elves who feel the Flame for their own gender."

He seemed astonished. "But...the Flame is for marriage."

"Well, yes, of course." Galadriel did not see what that had to do with anything.

"I mean for actual marriage. You know just as well as I do that it's not the ceremony that marriage makes. It's the joining, and...come, my love, without meaning the slightest offense to these couples, surely you must see that it's impossible for them to do that, and so their love, however honest it might be, can't have anything to do with the Flame?"

"I see no such thing," Galadriel said sharply. "There are other kinds of physical joining."

"But, I mean...well, the One established all of this, gave us this special kind of Flame we feel towards only one person, for children, to create a sacred scape for new life to be born into-"

"Well, yes, among other things."

"I always assumed this was the main reason."

"Have you, truly? I never knew, and I don't agree. The Select are, in fact, a proof that you're wrong-"

"If they can truly feel the Flame."

"Celeborn," Galadriel said, her voice getting truly dangerous now, "thread very carefully. My great-aunt was dear to me, and now you're implying she lied about the Flame she felt?"

"I'm sorry, I don't mean to doubt your loved ones, it's just hard to...well, all around me have always regraded it as something that is in the nature of Arda Marred, an unfortunate predisposition that prevents them from feeling true love, and only leads to...well, to the longings and attractions of the sort we're to avoid. Of the kind Lord Glorfindel spoke to you about."

"What, because he was attracted to three different neri through his almost two millennia of life, you decide that he's only capable of base longing? Do you judge me the same way, for my attraction to Lord Olórin?"

"No, of course not! You never acted on it, and we're together now-"

"Lord Glorfindel never acted on it either. What do you take him for?" Galadriel shook her head.

He sighed. "I'm explaining this all wrong," he said. "I don't believe these things, not anymore, but it's what I was taught when I was young, and even though I've accepted now that there can be genuine love, not just desire, felt by the Select, and ever since you told me they lived in Aman, I also accepted their fate is not only part of Arda Marred...accepting that it's the Flame of the One is another thing still. I might need some time."

"Then I'll attempt to give it to you." She took a deep breath, and slowly exhaled. "Forgive me if I'm being to harsh with you, but I just...as I've told Lord Glorfindel, this is impossible to understand."

"Yes," he agreed, "it must be. I spent centuries trying to understand your point of view, after all, and as you can see, I haven't managed so far."

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Galadriel found Lord Ciryatan again the next day, as he was strolling along the portside. "Good morning, my lord," she said, "how fare you today?"

"Well, my lady, thank you. And you? To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"Apart from my desire for your company?" She asked with a smile. "I wanted to ask what you thought of Vardamir."

"He's very like Elrond," he replied, "though at the same time a Man without a doubt. Once he overcame his shyness, there was no end to his questions."

"It's a good thing that we've been working diligently on the palace library, then. He'll enjoy it."

"The library?" Lord Ciryatan seemed surprised. "But had not most books been destroyed with Beleriand?"

"Yes. That's why we encouraged all that remember the past age to speak to Pengolodh or some of this helpers, so that they can write down what they know, of elves and Men and the lost realms and lands, and songs of old as well. It was Elrond's idea, actually, to help Pengolodh by official encouragement. We'd be very grateful if you yourself found some time for remembrance."

"I'll do what I can, but surely you must be one of the prime sources for this endeavour?"

Galadriel pushed away the tangle of bitterness and pain that this observation brought forward in her, and answered: "I do help, but I don't have as much time at my disposal as would be required for this, and sometimes, too, it's hard to decide how much information should be made public."

"Secrecy, my lady?" He smiled at her, and she laughed in response.

"Caution," she corrected. "Also...loyalty, I suppose. How much should I say about my cursed cousins? I don't wish to hide their crimes, yet does the world truly have to know everything? I find myself too willing to hide the weaknesses and failings of my loved ones as well – my uncle Fingolfin chief among them, for I can't bear to write badly about him. And I don't like writing about my own part at all. There's little enough to boast of."

"Such self-deprecation from you, my lady, surprises me deeply."

For a brief moment, Galadriel wondered if he was mocking her. "I only mean that I hardly achieved anything with all my counsel," she said, "though it is true that when I did, it led to disaster."

"You're thinking of the Battle of Unnumbered Tears," he realized immediately. "You shouldn't allow one unfortunate circumstance to cloud your judgement."

So it seemed she would have to talk about the pain and bitterness after all. "It isn't only the battle," she explained, trying to keep her voice calm, "though it's the most glaring example. But every realm I've lived in, I've failed to protect, and sometimes even contributed to its downfall in a way. I have no particular wish for this to be recorded in history, and if it has to be, then a least I won't be forced to write it myself." At his look, she smiled ironically and added: "Don't fear, my lord, in spite of everything, I won't easily be convinced that my advice isn't valuable."

"A good thing, too, otherwise I'd worry about this kingdom."

She chuckled. "Don't you trust Artanáro?"

"I do," he said seriously, "but then he owes much of his wisdom to you. If your advice suddenly became worthless, what would that mean for our king?"

"It would, I fear, be even harder to convince Artanáro to disregard my advice than to convince me to stop giving it. As Oropher would say, I've moulded him well in my image."

"Surely you don't believe such talk, my lady?"

"I don't, and yet..." She thought about how to express it. "It's dangerous for me, I believe, to dwell where all are younger than me and used to regarding me with filial respect. I'm very glad you decided to stay, Lord Círdan, and sometimes very sorry that you don't dwell in the capital."

"There is Lord Glorfindel in the capital, isn't there? As well as your husband."

"Yes, and it's very important that they are, but...Celeborn I regard as my equal, and Lord Glorfindel as well, in many ways. You, on the other hand, are older than me and one of the wisest I've ever met."

He smiled serenely. "Thank you for this praise, my lady, and I hope you'll forgive me if, in spite of it, I won't change my mind about staying in the Havens. I'm sending Amonel instead of me, surely that counts for something?"

Galadriel's face brightened. "Is she coming now, then? I didn't get a chance to speak to her yesterday."

"Yes, she'll be accompanying you on the journey back."

The Nolde was very glad of the news, and she went in search of her friend immediately. "I've heard the good news!" She said.

"I'm not sure it's so good," Ambë muttered. "I'll miss my uncle terribly, I know that already. But well, duty is duty. I'm glad you're here, however, for I had one question: would you mind if I took a guest with me to the capital?"

"No, of course not. Whom do you want to take?"

"Oreth. She is my cousin's daughter, a young elf who is curious about the world beyond the borders of our city, and my cousin asked me to take her. If you'd be her guide once we got there, I'd be even more grateful, since I suspect I'll be rather busy in my new position..."

"Of course. It'll be my pleasure."

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Faithful to her word, Galadriel found time to show Oreth the palace almost as soon as they arrived, while Ambë was busy familiarizing herself with her work. It was during a tour of the gardens that they came across Artanáro upon the shore. "Aunt," he said, smiling, and then his eyes alighted on the girl beside her...and Galadriel could almost feel the world shift.

She had never before been present when two elves felt the flame of Eru for each other for the first time, and she wondered whether this was what it always looked like. Her nephew and the young Sindarin lady could not look away from each other, and their eyes shone so brightly that Galadriel was reminded of the Silmaril.

She waited, giving them a moment, but before people around them could start talking, she broke the silence by saying: "This is Lady Oreth, daughter of Uilon, one of Lord Círdan's nobles. And Oreth, this is Rodnor Gil-Galad, High King of the Noldor in Middle-Earth and King of Lindon."

Oreth bowed, and Artanáro turned his eyes back to Galadriel, seemingly with great difficulty. He gathered his composure and said: "It's a great pleasure, my lady."

"Perhaps you'd like to accompany Lady Oreth around the gardens?" Galadriel offered.

"No," he answered quickly, adding, "no, I have duties I must attend to. It's been a pleasure, my ladies."

Galadriel looked after him in confusion. His mind had been in such disarray that she could not discern what he meant by it, so she turned back to Oreth and said: "It appears, then, that we'll continue on our own."

"I apologize, my lady," Oreth replied, "but I believe I'd prefer to retire for now."

"Of course, if that's what you want, but...Lady Oreth, are you certain you don't wish to talk?"

"Perfectly certain, yes, thank you. Have a pleasant afternoon." And Oreth walked away with that calm grace of the Teleri that always reminded Galadriel of her mother.

Galadriel gave Artanáro a day to collect his thoughts, but then she cornered him in his rooms. "What," she asked, "are you doing?"

"Do you realize how old Lady Oreth is?" He answered with a question.

"Yes, I am aware, thank you. She might not be a full adult, but eighty years of the Sun is hardly a child, and I am not suggesting you marry her now."

He seemed to shudder at the very idea. "I am four hundred years older than she is."

"And Lúthien was three thousand and four hundred years older than Beren. I fail to see why it should be such an insurmountable problem."

"She is an adolescent!" Artanáro was almost shouting now.

"Yes, at the moment," Galadriel replied, still calm. "Like I said, no need to hurry with the wedding. But she felt the Flame as strongly as you did, there is no need for you to _hide_ from her. Talk to her, get to know her."

He exhaled. "I feel dreadful about this," he confessed. "Like...like a monster."

"Yes, I can see that. But beloved, do not forget that it is not us who directs the Flame, it is the One. There is no point in being ashamed of feeling it, that would be nonsensical. It is how you _act_ that could give you a reason to be ashamed. Also, do not make the mistake of assuming that because she is young, she does not get a say in this. She must be very confused at the moment, and she deserves to know what is happening, she deserves to understand. Think back to when you were young, about the ways you preferred people to treat you."

He smiled a little, remembering, she knew, how he had appreciated the respect she tried to pay him in spite of her age. "What were _you_ like when you were eighty years of the Sun?" He asked.

"Oh, dreadful," Galadriel said with a laugh. "I was at my most insufferable at that age. I spent almost all of my time with Nelyafinwë and Findekáno, and was convinced we were the only proper Noldor in the whole of Aman. Well, along with Fëanáro and Ñolofinwë, I suppose. No one else was good enough for me, and I made it quite plain, I think, at that time."

Artanáro laughed with her. "I find it hard to believe that you were not always wise," he said.

"Well, that was just the problem you see – I was, in many ways very much so, and that was what contributed to my insufferability. I was simply better than everyone in all things, you know?" She sighed, and shook her head. "About the only thing that could take me from these heights were probably the visits to my great-grandmother's house. Fortunately, I never stopped those, at least, otherwise I really cannot imagine what a monster would I have become."

Artanáro smirked. "And yet you wonder why I hesitate to court an eighty years old lady?"

"I very much doubt Lady Oreth had my weaknesses," Galadriel retorted.

In spite of this talk, however, Artanáro continued in his avoidance and Lady Oreth remained impenetrably silent in the following days and weeks. When Galadriel tried to consult Ambë, she found out that Oreth didn't speak to her about what was clearly troubling her either. And so when months passed with no change, the Nolde finally turned to one she knew could break that barrier. "My love," she said to Celeborn," I need your help."

"What is it?"

"I wish you'd try talking to Oreth."

Celeborn frowned. "Are you certain? She might not wish to discuss what she feels."

"Well she certainly doesn't wish to discuss it with me or Amonel, she made that plain enough, but it's been going on for too long, and I worry about her and Artanáro."

"Have you spoken to him?"

"Yes." Galadriel paced their chambers. "He claims Oreth is too young, which might well be true, but it's no reason to act the way he does, and I don't believe he told her. She should know what's going on."

Celeborn gave her a look. "You believe I'm interfering," Galadriel deciphered it with no great difficulty.

"Yes."

"My love, I don't ask that you follow what I say in talking to her. I just ask that you try, and do what you consider best. She might talk to you. I don't understand her, but you may."

Celeborn stepped closer to her and kissed her forehead. "I'll attempt to speak with her," he said. "But don't blame me if it doesn't end well."

It did, however, and better than could have been expected. "I talked to her," Celeborn said some days later, "and I believe all will be well in time. She's young, but she's...less confused than she could be."

"How did you make her talk?" Galadriel wondered.

Her husband smiled. "I didn't make her do anything," he replied. "But if you expect me to share things she told me in privacy..."

"No, of course not. I'm simply glad you were so very efficient. Perhaps now she'll open up to Amonel as well."

"Perhaps," Celeborn agreed, "but they aren't close friends, you know. To Oreth, Amonel is chiefly a kindly cousin who took her to the capital. Not close enough to talk to, but close enough to be embarrassed in front of. I was easier, I believe, because she didn't know me."

"Perhaps she should get to. If this is true Flame, then she'll stay in the capital for some time, and it would be hard to live here without friends."

"I like her," Celeborn admitted, "and it'd be an honour if she chose to confide in me in the future, but I certainly won't push her."

"I'd never ask that of you."

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AN: I imagine that an elf who is 80 would be something like a 17 year old human. (I see 50 as 15 and 100 as 18).

For the idea that female elves who have children can't really create so much stuff, look no further than Laws and Customs Among the Eldar. Elves are said to give something of themselves to their children in its course, more so than Men, and with female elves, in fact, it's so bad that their creative abilities become stunted, because they pour all of their ability to create into their babies. If there ever was something that made me want to punch Tolkien, (if you want to see me go on a tangent, look no further than fandomfollowing women-in-middle-earth ) but I have to admit that is fits the worldbuilding very well, explaining Míriel and why elves do not have infinite children at the same time, so I decided to use it here.

And just to be clear, I don't intend the Noldorin approach to LGB as some kind of perfect model, I'm simply trying to imagine how a society that is fundamentally good could work with what, to the majority of them, would be something different/other. They're good, but they don't exactly have critical theory philosophers among them, so analyzing how putting a sexual identity on a pedestal can be harmful would, I think, be a little beyond them.

Oh and on a completely unrelated note, there's a ficlet about the beginning of Idril and Galadriel's friendship on my tumblr now. Barbarakaterina. Tumblr post/143574641675


	40. Wishes

**Chapter 40: Wishes**

 _Year 160 of the Second age, Sea City_

"Your husband is very friendly with the future queen, is he not?" Tyelperinquar asked Galadriel one day after they finished discussing some of his new ideas for lighting the palace corridors.

"Yes," she agreed. "I am very glad, too – she hardly knew anyone here when she came, and of course she has Artanáro -"

"Or will have him, at any rate," Tyelperinquar said with a smirk. "Will you have some wine?"

Galadriel rolled her eyes at him, though she nodded to the wine. "I meant to talk to, though she will likely have him as her husband too, of course, in time, as soon as he stops being stubborn. But it is better to have someone apart from your intended to keep you company. And I am happy for Celeborn as well. After his family all perished or departed, he hardly had anyone but me."

There was a short silence, in which a strange expression crossed Tyelperinquar's face as he poured out. "You should not name her our future queen is such an easy and open manner," Galadriel added. "They are not even betrothed."

"No, but you know she will be queen as well as I do," he said, handing her the goblet.

"Unless something terrible happens," she agreed as she accepted it.

Tyelperinquar smiled. "You lived too long under the shadow of the Enemy," he said as he toasted her. "These lands are free now. What could possibly happen?"

"Let us not tempt fate, shall we? But no, I agree with you, it is unlikely. They have every chance of long, happy years ahead of themselves. That is why he does not rush, you know – he has the comfort of plenty of time."

They both drank and were silent for a moment as they enjoyed the full taste, then Tyelperinquar said: "I do not understand his attempts at keeping it quiet, to be honest – he spends so much time with her all must know, in any case."

Galadriel raised her eyebrows at him. "As much time as Celeborn spends with her, perhaps?"

He said nothing to that, and she shook her head. "You should not assume an intention to marry simply because a nis and a nér spend much time together. Ask Lord Laurefindil."

"Yes, well, it is different in _his_ case."

"Not that different. There is only one person for which you will feel the Flame. All the rest of them are going to be your friends, if you are to spend time with them at all, so truly, the chances of a couple you see together being about to marry are actually quite small, whatever their genders."

"Oh very well!" He seemed frustrated. "Do we have to speak about not-future-queen Oreth? I find her...well. Difficult to understand."

Galadriel smiled. "You would," she said, "though she is also not entirely dissimilar to your mother." Or to what Galadriel imagined Midhel had been like before Curufinwë kidnapped her, at any rate.

"And who says I did not find my mother difficult to understand? But, well. She was my mother." He sighed. "And do not pretend that you find Lady Oreth easy to talk to."

"We are not close friends, no," Galadriel admitted freely, "but then, I do realize not everyone needs to like me." She paused. "In fact, in this she reminds me of Lady Ernil a little, and Lady Gelvil even more."

He frowned. "I have never truly seen you with Lady Gelvil," he said, "but I thought you were on good terms with Lady Ernil?"

"Well, our relationship was what I would call professional. We could work together well, but she was not especially fond of me. And she had one great advantage over Lady Oreth."

"What is that?"

"She was older than me," Galadriel replied with a smile. "I am aware I can be...overbearing, at times, and Lady Ernil was in a better position to keep me in check than Lady Oreth is."

Tyelperinquar frowned. "I do not think you are overbearing at all."

"Well, I am happy to hear that, but I also believe you tend to be rather uncritical of me, so..."

"I do think you are admirable," he admitted plainly. "I do not see how anyone could not. All the things you have gone through, and yet you still remain strong and unbroken."

Galadriel sighed. "You never see the wounds, because I do not wish to burden you with them."

"I did not say unwounded," he replied, "that would be impossible after the last age, but...unbroken."

She gave him a searching look. "You do not mean it as a contrast with your mother, do you?"

He flushed. "Well, no, I mean, not quite. What I want to say is, I do understand that what she went through was terrible, but I have always known her as broken and as someone I had to take care of, to a degree, and then I met you, so very strong, and..."

"You blame her for sailing," Galadriel realized.

"So do you!" He exploded.

"No," she said with emphasis, "I do not."

"Do not lie! I heard you talk to her, I heard you tell her you thought she would be healed..."

"Yes," Galadriel agreed, "but Tyelperinquar, and this is very important, your mother was right and I was wrong. She went through something dreadful, something I cannot even imagine, and it was _natural_ she would want to sail. It is right that she has the chance, now, to heal in Aman. If you miss her, you should have gone with her."

"I did not want to sail! I had hoped that she could, perhaps, stay a few decades for me, and then we would sail together..."

"She stayed for you for two centuries," Galadriel told him sharply. "Do not dare pretending you are the hurt party here." She paused. "I always admired the way you cared for her," she said then. "I am surprised that..."

"But that is just it, do you not see? We were always together, always, all my life, and then..." He shook his head. "I just wish she was more like you."

This pronouncement made Galadriel furious. "Listen to me," she said. "Your mother was one of the strongest people I have known in my lifetime. Those who go through pain and suffering and find the strength to go on are always the strongest, and taking the chance at healing when they finally find it does not make them weak. It pains me, pains me deeply, that you would even suggest so."

She walked away from his chambers in anger and went outside to the gardens to calm herself. Once there, the fury gradually receded, leaving only tiredness in its wake.

She was upset, and yet, was this not very similar to how Artanáro felt about her and his father? Was she more upset in this case because she had been closer to Midhel than to Artaresto, or was it because she loved Artanáro better, and so found pleasure in his preference, and only irritation in Tyelperinquar's?

She exhaled. She needed to speak with Celeborn. He, she was sure, would know.

He was not to be found in their chambers, and Galadriel spent much time unproductively caught in her own thoughts before he came and she could explain the situation.

"No," he said then, "I don't believe that's the difference. You know Rodnor better than I do, of course, but if I understand it right, he blamed his father for the bitterness he fell into, chiefly the bitterness against you...he didn't blame him for weakness in the face of tragedy."

"But is there such a great difference? Was Orodreth's bitterness not simply one of the possible natural reactions?"

"But that's the crucial difference," Celeborn argued. "That's what indicates true strength. Not how soon you can stop weeping afterwards, or how unaffected you can act in public. It's whether you allow tragedy to turn you bitter."

"Do we have any right to judge, though?" She asked him urgently. "Aren't we doing the same as Celebrimbor when we say this? We've lost many, but we still have each other. The horror of losing you..."

"That's why we have sympathy for them, for Orodreth and Oropher and the others, but that doesn't mean we don't see their faults. Look at my grandmother. The wound grandfather's loss left on her soul was clear for anyone to see, and yet she was never embittered, and until her departure always tried to make Oropher see the error of his ways." He paused, and caressed her hand. "Don't regard it as your own judgement, if it makes you feel better. Think of what my grandmother said. And trust me, the difference isn't that you love Rodnor better: it's because of this difference that you love him better."

Celeborn looked at her intently, as if willing his words to have more strength, and Galadriel returned the look, smiling slightly in gratefulness. She was not sure she believed his words, but his trust helped her, and brought some calm to her soul.

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When the ship landed in Rómenna, the royal procession was already waiting for them.

Galadriel disembarked the ship at Elrond's side, and Elros stepped forward to welcome them. "Brother," he said, embracing him, and then: "Aunt." He held her tight for a moment, muttering: "It has been too long."

"You say that every time, and my answer is still the same: It is your own fault," she laughed after he let her go.

"You know I cannot afford to be away very often."

"Of course. That is not what I mean and you know it. I could have come here much earlier."

He seemed sheepish, and Galadriel smiled at him even more brightly to make sure he understood she was not serious. She could almost hear Findekáno's voice in her head: 'Nerwen faulting someone from being too proud? I never thought I would see the day.' But then her memories turned to Fëanáro, and so she made herself return to the present.

"What news from Middle-Earth?" The king asked once they all mounted their horses and set out for the capital.

"Many and multifold, but there is only one piece of truly big news that reached us: Amdír has left Oropher to found his own kingdom," Galadriel regaled him with the newest bit of gossip.

Elros' eyes widened, and then he shook his head, apparently amused. "I know I should not laugh," he said, "but really. They pompously departed not even a century and half ago, declaring that they want nothing to do with you – though not in so many words – and now they are arguing among themselves already? More then arguing, in fact, given how far it has gone? Do you know what happened?"

"No. Our messengers only brought the bare news, and we are unlikely to get more in the near future."

"Artanáro is worried," Elrond added. "For Thranduil, naturally. I think he saw Amdír as a kind of guarantee that someone will keep an eye on him, but now Thranduil is left effectively only in his father's care."

"You are aware, are you not, brother, that Thranduil is older than us?" Elros pointed out, still amused.

Elrond frowned. "But he is not half-elven. He was barely an adult at the beginning of the war, just like we were."

"Still. I have been ruling a realm for two hundreds of years now, so I think Thranduil can take care of himself."

"If you compare yourself to Thranduil," Galadriel interjected here, "then you have a lower opinion of yourself than I have thought."

Elros raised his eyebrows. "I thought it was only Oropher you had a quarrel with?"

"Yes. I truly do not have any dislike for Thranduil, though it cannot be denied that he inherited many of his father's character traits; but more importantly, he was raised by Oropher, shaped by him, with little enough outside influence, especially since they left. I do not know him, not as an adult, but I would be very surprised if you were not incomparable."

"Because I had your noble example to guide me?" Elros asked with soft irony.

Galadriel laughed, though the question made her a little uncomfortable as well. From Artanáro, she would have simply accepted it as a joke. But with Elros, the memories of him as a child were still too fresh, too much in her mind. She tried to push them away. He was right, he was a king now, has been for some time. Perhaps seeing him in his own land would help her realize it more fully. "That, too, of course," she said aloud, in good humour, "but I meant your brother, Artanáro, even Lord Laurefindil or Celeborn. You were surrounded by people who could guide you during your young years. Thranduil...well. You know how much Oropher isolated him."

"Let us be hopeful that Artanáro's influence in Thranduil's early ears left some mark, then," Elros replied.

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Crossing Númenórë to reach the capital, Galadriel looked at the land and began, slowly, to understand.

She had only ever known the Second-born in their refugee camps and small settlements, and while she had been aware for some time that their role in the world was different, but no less valuable than that of the elves, only setting her eyes on this beautiful island drove it home.

This was what the Second-born were always meant to be.

She also realized that this was why Elros waited for so long to ask her to come, that it was not pride, not truly, or if it was, it was pride in his people, pride in what they could be when given the chance. This world Galadriel now saw was truly different, yet no less wondrous and beautiful than what she knew from Narogrotto or Thousand Caves. This was a world she understood why Elros loved.

Armentos especially was truly a place worthy of admiration, very different from Sea City and yet no less breathtaking. The royal palace itself was even more so, and after Galadriel admired Elros' tower and the White Tree, she was led inside, where Elros' family was waiting.

"Aunt Galadriel," Vardamir welcomed her, stepping out with his hands outstretched, smiling. "I am very happy to see you here. Allow me to introduce my siblings, Princess Tindómiel, Prince Manwendil and Prince Atancalar."

Setting her eyes on them, Galadriel was taken aback, nay, almost shocked. Three noble-looking young second-born bowed to her, all fully grown and with easy grace of royal blood sitting on their brows. Tindómiel and Manwendil were fair like their mother, while Atalancar, like his eldest brother, inherited Elros' colouring. Galadriel had known, theoretically, that they were all adults, but seeing it with her own eyes was another thing entirely, and it pushed her a step frther on the way to understanding.

"And I believe," Vardamir continued, "you have not yet met my betrothed? This is Lady Ailinel."

The lady he gestured to was tall for a woman and as dark-haired as he was, and seemed serious as she curtseyed. "My lady," she said.

"Lady Ailinel," Galadriel said with a nod, her head still reeling a little from all these realizations. "It is a pleasure.

"Likewise. I have heard much about you."

"And I about you," Galadriel managed to say. "I am very eager to get to know you better."

Elros, who had been watching her carefully for a time now, touched her elbow. "Come," he said, "I will lead you to your chambers, so that you have enough time to prepare for the feast."

Galadriel inclined her head. "I will meet you there again, then, Lady Ailinel," she said.

Once they were out of earshot, Elros slowed down and asked: "What is it, Aunt?"

"It is nothing, only...I am overwhelmed." She admitted. "Your realm is truly beautiful, and you were right to have me wait this long. It makes me understand many things better, and that requires some adjustments in my mind. But also...I am well aware that you took the fate of Men, Elros, but...your four children are grown men and women now, and will soon have children of their own. While to me, it seems like yesterday that I was wandering through the wilderness with you and the Feanorioni, and teaching you how to fight."

"Sometimes it seems like yesterday to me as well," he admitted. "And other times, I grow impatient with the world and wish to be free of it."

"Elros, surely-"

"No, do not worry, Aunt, I believe there are many years left to me still. Less for Adanel, though, and that weights heavily on me."

"Pray and hope, beloved. I do not know the intentions of the Valar in this, but I do know that Beren and Lúthien, at least, were granted the mercy of dying together. It might be given to you as well."

He frowned. "That would be easy enough," he said, "since I and my descendants have been granted the grace of dying when we choose. What I fear is that there will still be much to do when Adanel wishes to depart, and I will not be able to leave with her."

"You told me you believed you would be able to – and, indeed, desirous to – let go of this world. Are you beginning to doubt that?"

"No. It is responsibility I fear, not sentimental attachment. Surely _you_ understand that, Aunt?"

"Do you not trust your children?"

"Not as much as I feel I should." He shook his head. "How did you do it, simply letting Artanáro become the ruler? I understand now how difficult it must have been."

"Easier for me than for you, I believe. It was never my kingdom. Yes," she added, contemplating the problem, "looking at it from this point of view, letting my own kingdom pass into another's hands would seem like an almost impossible feat to me. But then, it is not a situation the elves can find themselves in under usual circumstances. I am not sure I can help you here, beloved. The only thing my wisdom tells me is that perhaps the weariness of the world that is supposed to come with age for you will make even that easier. Perhaps you will tire of governing."

Elros gave a dry laugh. "I sometimes tire of it already!"

They walked in silence for a moment, then he said: "So what do you think? Of Ailinel, I mean?"

Galadriel gave him an amused look. "We barely had enough time to exchange greetings before you took me away."

He smiled sheepishly. "Sorry," he said. "It is only that I worry."

"Well, I do understand she is not your kind of person – she seems very serious, and very different from Adanel – but surely she is a good match for Vardamir?"

"That is what I worry about. It is not that she is not the bride I would have chosen, but...well, Vardamir does not feel the Flame."

Galadriel raised her eyebrows. "Well, you knew that was likely to happen."

"Yes, but...what if he chooses wrong? I never had to ask myself this question, and you know it is of monumental importance in his case."

"I would venture to say that choosing a spouse is monumental in everyone's case."

"You know what I mean," he retorted a little impatiently. "It will determine his fate. He could still choose to be judged with the elves. If he marries Ailiniel, he and all of his descendants will be counted among Men, unless perhaps if one of them marries an elf. This is the last generation that has the choice."

Galadriel gave him a sharp look. "Elros," she said, "did you want him to marry an elf?"

He exhaled. "Perhaps I did," he admitted. "You know about my doubts as regards his suitability as king, and if he simply married an elf, it would have been solved. He would have given up the crown, naturally, and accepted the elven fate. He would have felt the Flame, so there would have been no need to worry about this being the right choice. And given his close friendship with Elrond, I thought it could suit him. As it is...what if he is throwing away his immortality for a woman only to find out he did not choose well?"

"Throwing it away?" Galadriel was shocked, and worried. "Surely you do not mean that...our fates are two equal choices, Elros."

"Do you _truly_ think so?" He asked archly.

"You do! You told me yourself that you were not afraid of death!"

He exhaled. "Not for myself, no. But to think of my children dying...well, that is a different thing entirely.

"Do you have a reason to believe Vardamir will not be happy with the fate of Men? Is he so different from your people? Surely you must know that _they_ would not fare well in immortality."

"I do. Though I ask myself...why is that? Is that because our minds are not strong enough for it?"

"Do you regret your choice?" Galadriel asked in fear.

He shook his head. "Perhaps it is truly only that I am not able to free myself from the values of my elvish upbringing."

She sighed, and pressed his hand. "Then trust your wife in this. How does she feel?"

"Oh, Adanel is perfectly content with Vardamir's choice. But then she has such a happy nature that she is content with most things." He gave her a slightly sad smile. "So did I, once upon a time. Kingship brings too many worries."

"Come," Galadriel said. "Your son is getting married in a month, and I will have you glad by the time the celebration takes place."

This task, however, proved to be more complicated than she had expected. Elros was very busy, and so most days, the situation was the precise opposite: it was him who was arranging for entertainment for her, as if it was her who needed cheering.

On one such occasion, a few days after her arrival, Princess Tindómiel was sent to her to accompany her to Eldalondë to show her the apparently very beautiful bay and harbour.

"They sent me," she declared cheerfully as they set out, "because out of them all, I am the only one who leaves Armenos with any regularity. Really, I think I know every inch of the Bay of Eldanna. It is, beyond a doubt, the most beautiful place on this island, and I go there often."

"Do you like travelling, then?" Galadriel asked politely, thinking fleetingly of Irissë, even though this princess of Men, with blond hair, rosy cheeks and eyes like early morning sky, could not look any less like her had she tried.

"Well...I like exploring," Tindómiel replied. "I like discovering new things, be they beautiful places or new exciting books or...anything, truly. I hope to one day know the rest of this island as well as I know Armenos and Bay of Eldanna, and then I hope to go to Middle-Earth as well."

"It would perhaps help in this," Galadriel pointed out with a smile, "if you did not repeatedly go to Eldanna."

Tindómiel laughed. "You are right, of course, esteemed Aunt," she said. "But, well, it is so very beautiful."

It was. Galadriel was left speechless when she saw it, for while the rest of Númenórë was as beautiful as any elven realm in Middle-Earth, the bay of Eldanna was more, it was Aman outside of Aman, and it was staggering. She felt, for a moment, as if she was back in the West, back in her young years of innocence. There even, if she saw rightly, were some mellyrn growing there.

The Valar have truly rewarded the Second born well for their steadfastedness.

Galadriel had to fight the desire to simply stay there, to never leave, to enjoy the blessed state of this land. _It was not meant for you,_ she had to tell herself. _You are here merely as a guest. You will have to leave again, because this is theirs, and you will not take it from them._

"I find it curious that you have havens here," she said, forcing herself to concentrate on something outside of her desire to stay. "I mean, as far as I know, you are not allowed to sail West…?"

"No," Tindómiel agreed, "but elves from the West have come to us a few times."

Galadriel turned around so quickly she almost fell off her horse. "Elves from the west come to see you here?" She asked, shocked.

"Well...as I have said, it only happened as few times, just thrice as far as I can remember...and they are not from Valinor proper, but rather from Tol Eressëa, if I understand the situation..."

"But they could...if they wanted, elves from the West could come here?" The visions of seeing her mother again, both of her parents, truly, or Itarillë and Elwing...it was making her drunk with hope.

Tindómiel frowned. "Father talked about this once, but I do not remember it very well, since it was not truly important to me. If I recall correctly, he said that they the Valar do not wish for the elves who have close kin or friends here to meet with them on our island, so they only let those from Tol Eressëa come. The elves who have been reembodied are banned outright from leaving Aman, I think, and the rest are strongly discouraged at least. That was how Father explained why his parents will not come. They would be disobeying the Valar, he said. I remember that it seemed strange to me – I mean, he was their child."

Galadriel could hardly hear what Tindómiel was saying, her head was spinning from the hope she had gained and lost again. "They barely knew them," she said in a daze. "Elwing and Ardamírë, I mean. They barely knew their children before they were separated. It is not the same as you and your parents."

Tindómiel replied something, but Galadriel was too lost in her thoughts. Of course the Valar would wish to punish her in this way as well, of course they would not allow her parents to even meet with her, and of course her parents would never disobey them. If it was Ñolofinwë, she could not help but think, he would come, no matter how much he was discouraged. But then again, precisely because of this, it was Ñolofinwë and not her father who was now in the Halls of Mandos, with no chance of coming to see her, and no knowledge of when he would be released.

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AN: I was thinking, well, Dior the Half-Elven married Nimloth the Full Elf, and their child was still counted as Half-Elven. So if the two kindreds are truly to be seen as equal, when Elros the Half-Elven marries Adanel the Full Human, their child should still be counted as Half Elven as well. But since it clearly isn't a "one drop policy" kind of deal – the last kings of Númenor obviously had no choice between the two fates – I decided that this would be the last generation when there'd a choice, unless relativized by another "cross-species" marriage. I mean, Half-Elven Elros marries a full human, so if his quarter-elven son then marries another human, their children and their descendands will be fully human, no questions asked. But if his quarter-elven son married an elf, well, then their child would be back to half-elven. An the same for Elrond's line: Elladan still had a choice, being quarter-human, but if he marries an elf, then their children will be pure elves, no questions asked. Arwen's children with Aragorn should still get a choice by this logic, and be counted as half-elven.

I do realize that the actual story sounds more like it went away after just one generation in case of Men, but that really seems to sort of privilege elvenkind in a way I seriously dislike, so...

Oh and because I'm super productive when a deadline approaches, there is another story on my tumblr, this one about Idril and writing the hymn to Elbereth. barbarakaterina. tumblr post/143686476233 (or, if you don't feel like copying the numbers, just look into the 'the nolde verse' tag.)


	41. Weddings

**Chapter 41: Weddings**

 _Year 250 of the Second Age, Caras Aear_

Galadriel stood atop the highest tower of Artanáro's palace, looking towards the western seas.

Then she turned and looked towards Middle-Earth instead, trying to discern its vast forests and high mountains in the distance.

And then, just before she descended, she looked bellow, to the palace gardens and the coast that surrounded it.

It was, she had to admit, a thing of beauty. The white sands of the beach flowed seamlessly into the white sands of garden paths, among which trees and flowers grew. Then there were benches and arbours, and behind them, the dazzlingly white walls of the palace, carved so that it seemed almost like the gardens continued. And the palace itself, so, its reliefs almost seeming to be made of lace, so well-worked they were, and the multiple terraces, overlooking the sea. Yes, Caras Aear was a place of beauty.

She sighed as she descended the stairs. It was a place of beauty, but she still missed forests and mountains, and deep down felt the burning desire to have her own land close to these. Perhaps it was time to go on that expedition she had promised Elrond years ago.

She met him down in the gardens, finding her way among the many children who played there. There were scores of children in Lindon now, because peace and prosperity made elves desirous of giving life. "It is almost like the Second born, is it not?" Elrond said, smiling, when he reached her. "So many children, and so quickly."

"I remember this from Aman," she replied as they began to walk back. "It was like that there, for elves found their loves easily and had no reason to hesitate with bringing children into the world. Time passed slower there in many ways, of course, so children were not born so quickly, but there were more of us, too, so in numbers it looked similar. And you are right, I have not seen such a state with elves ever since we reached Middle-Earth. It fills me with joy."

"Especially given the joy it brought to Artanáro!"

Galadriel laughed and shook her head. "Not yet, but I hope he will finally stop hesitating. I understand his misgivings, but Oreth has been a full adult for a century and a half now. And it is not like Artanáro is my age."

"He is still twice Oreth's age," Elrond pointed out.

"Something that would have been a true problem had she been forty and he eighty, but Artanáro was scarcely older than she is when he became king. That should be enough to convince him she is old enough to marry. They are unnecessarily losing time, because he fears what his subjects will say. And meanwhile, the whole land is waiting with anticipation for the moment their king turns his betrothal into a marriage, wishing to finally be able to congratulate him. He has spoken of it many times already, and then suddenly he changes his mind again, fearing his personal desires are clouding his conscience!"

"I do agree with you, really, only I understand his hesitation as well. But, in any case, the symbolism of him marrying a daughter of his new kingdom is beautiful to my mind, whenever it happens. It speaks of hope."

"Yes, and of a bright future. I know what you mean. The only one left to convince is him!"

They both laughed as they entered the terrace of Elrond's chambers. It was pleasant that this was their most burning problem. The king would marry his lady love in time, and there was no hurry, so it was truly only a matter of friendly banter, trying to convince him that waiting 'another few years' was unnecessary.

"How does the library fare?" She asked.

"Most of the works we have commissioned are done," he replied. "And Artanáro was right, Erestor truly was an excellent choice for the head librarian. The only thing that worries me is that he will never wish for anyone to take any of his precious books away!"

Galadriel laughed. "I should find some time to go and talk to the young elf," she said, "when both you and Artanáro are so happy with him."

"It still surprises me that you do not know him. I mean, he left Hithlum with you, before the last battle, from what he says."

"Beloved, there were at least a thousand elves who left with me that day, and he was very young at that time, was he not?"

"Yes...barely forty, from what he said. His mother was a cousin of one of your healers, that is how they knew to go."

"Did he say which one?" Galadriel asked with interest.

"No..."

"Then I will certainly ask him. I did not know all of them as well as I should have, but I did know their names." She smiled. "And that brings us to our purpose today, even though I am afraid I will soon have nothing more to teach you about healing."

He shook his head. "I can hardly believe it. I remember you saying that you never stopped learning from Lady Melian, the whole time you lived in Doriath."

"Yes, but for one, your learn more quickly than I ever did-"

"Truly?" He asked, surprised.

"Yes. You have true natural inclination and talent for this, beloved, while I mostly have a lot of power, generally speaking, and excellent training. And also, it was merely four hundred years that I spent in Doriath. We are approaching that mark, you know."

Elrond's eyes widened. "You are right," he said. "When I hear the multitude of stories...well, it seems like the First Age lasted so long, but..."

"...but we are at almost half of its mark now. Yes. It _is_ strange, even for me. It seems time should pass more slowly in peace, and yet...it is as with Aman a little. In joy and happiness, we do not count the days."

"Artanáro does," Elrond said with a mischievous smile.

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Galadriel did go to speak with Erestor, as soon as her healing session with Elrond was done. She found him busy at work, and when he raised his head to see who entered his library, he bowed. Galadriel wondered if it was only her impression, or if there was something a little mocking, a little ironic in that bow. "Greetings, my lady," he said, respectfully enough.

"Greetings, Erestor," she returned.

"To what do I owe this honour?"

"I have heard much about you from both Artanáro and Elrond, and so I wished to speak to you in person."

"So an honour indeed."

Galadriel tilted her head to the side. "You seem to be...less than thrilled by my presence."

"Well, I was working, but of course I am always happy to make time for the Lady Galadriel."

Galadriel was rather unpleasantly reminded of Curufinwë, but decided to persevere. Similar mannerisms did not necessarily indicate similar nature. "I will not keep you for long," she said. "I chiefly came to ask about your kin. Elrond told me that you are related to one of my healers from Hithlum, and that made me curious. Who is it?"

Erestor gave her a long, measuring look. "Brannor," he said then.

The world seem to go out of focus for a moment, and Galadriel swayed a little and had to catch herself on Erestor's desk. "I am sorry," she muttered, fighting her unexpected dizziness.

"Yes, so am I, my lady," Erestor replied in an eerily even tone. "I fought in the Third Kinslaying, you know, by his side. He died defending me."

Galadriel closed her eyes for a moment.

"I had hoped," Erestor continued, "to be a healer like him, when I was older, but alas, that possibility is now taken from me."

The Nolde frowned. "You can still become a healer, even though you have killed," she said. "Elrond has, and-"

"Yes," Erestor replied, "but has he killed elves?"

Galadriel had no answer for that.

"My father, of course," he continued, still in that same even tone, "died in the Battle of Unnumbered Tears, fighting on the orders of that accursed son of Fëanáro. My uncle was killed by one of his men, and my mother sailed because of all the suffering they have caused." He paused, and gave her another long, measuring look. "What was it like, my lady, wandering in the wilderness with them for so long?"

Galadriel narrowed her eyes at him, his bitterness pulling her out of her grief a little. "You have wanted to ask me this for a long time, have you not?"

"Yes," he admitted plainly. "It is a serious question, my lady. I remember your from Hithlum enough, and trust the king and Lord Elrond enough, to not quite believe that you were on the kinslayers' side. But why did you go with them, then?"

"And what would you have me do?" She asked him archly, unable to help herself. "Fight with my cousins? Kill them?"

"Better that than have them kill others, is it not? My lady?"

She frowned at him. "I do not have to justify myself to you," she said, part of her wishing to simply leave, the other part feeling the need to explain, in honour of Brannor's memory. "Hoping that it will help to bring you peace, I will say this: Nelyafinwë was one of my best friends for hundreds of years. If there was anything I could do to avoid having to hurt him, I would."

"Even if it saved other lives?"

Galadriel had never had this confrontation with Oropher, who preferred to speak behind her back. Now, when the accusations were said to her face, and by one whose grief was not so fresh any longer, she chose to go on a little further. "I did not stand by and let them kill others," she said. "In fact, it was me who stood between them and Elwing, and them and Elros and Elrond."

"And then you went with them peacefully, my lady." It must have been some unique ability that made Erestor say 'my lady' as if it was an insult.

"Because the other choice was going to Balar and have them follow me, lead them to the last hidden settlement," Galadriel tried. "I would never do that. Or I could have stayed in the wilderness alone with the twins, but there was too much risk in that. I am powerful, but not so much that I could be sure to protect them both from any danger alone. The lands were teeming with orcs." She shook her head. This was _too much_ like Oropher, from what she knew of Celeborn's arguments with him. "I have lived this before, and I know well that if you do not wish to believe, you will not. So just allow me to tell you one thing...it is not only that you have killed elves, what prevents you from becoming a healer. It is the hatred in your heart, too."

He laughed bitterly. "Should I love the sons of Fëanáro?"

"No. You never knew them. But let go of your hate. It was centuries ago, and your uncle is now happily walking in Aman, I am sure, for all the good deeds he has done, while the sons of Fëanáro will never be released."

"If the Valar have any justice at all, it is so," he agreed. "But-"

Just in that moment, the door opened and Artanáro strode in. Erestor immediately bowed, and Galadriel smiled.

"Elrond told me I might find you here," he said. His eyes flicked to Erestor. "Everything all right?"

Galadriel frowned for a moment, and then she realized: "You knew. You knew Erestor was Brannor's cousin."

"Yes," he admitted.

"Why did you not tell me?"

"Because I also knew about his other views."

Galadriel shook her head. "You give me too little credit. You should have known I would have wished to talk to him nevertheless."

"Yes, and I am sorry." He turned to Erestor. "I should apologize to you as well, I feel, since I gave you too little credit too. I feared you could say...something you would regret later."

"No need to apologize, my king," Erestor replied, that sarcastic smile gracing his lips again. "Your fear was not entirely unjustified."

Artanáro looked alarmed again, and turned his eyes back to Galadriel, who shook her head. "Nothing particularly offensive was said," she stated. "And perhaps I have even managed to explain some things, and issue a warning that might be heard. No harm was done."

Artanáro smiled. "That is good, for I have happy news, and I would not wish them spoiled by strife among you." He paused. "I have finally decided to set the date for the wedding."

"Oh, again?" Galadriel asked with a small laugh.

"No, it is definite this time. We have arranged it with Oreth. We will be wed next Spring Equinox."

That truly did sound hopeful. "I like the date," Galadriel said. "I assume you will want Celeborn to take care of the official aspects?"

"Yes, I already spoke to him. I do not have much real hope Oropher will come, but I have to ask him. Perhaps me having a Sindarin wife will soften him."

"I would not count on that. But Amdír, at least, will likely come."

"Perhaps he could take Amroth and Thranduil with him?"

"The chance that Oropher will let Thranduil go without him is even smaller than that he will come himself, but keep your hope, beloved."

He shook his head at her. "I have to go prepare for the council," he said, "so I do not have the time to argue with you, but do not spoil my wedding for me in advance!"

He left the library, and she went with him. Once they had relative privacy in the corridor, he added: "Perhaps after this is done with, Celeborn will finally be able to meet with Oreth without fear of sending tongues waggling."

Galadriel was amused. "Celeborn did not feel limited by the gossip in any way, and if you think it will stop because both of them will be married, well, then you are very naive for a king."

He frowned. "But...surely you are aware of what the gossip said?"

"A variety of things."

"Well, what they brought to me was that Celeborn regretted his marriage to you, and that he wished he could be with Oreth instead, and that she returned his feelings. Surely if that was true, she would not marry _me_?"

Galadriel smirked. "They will say that, knowing she had no chance with him, she decided she can just as well marry someone else, and why not you? That would give her queenship. Do not underestimate people's capacity for gossip."

"Do you mind?" He asked after a moment.

"On some level," she admitted. "But mostly because it offends me, I think, that people would speak so. I am so very happy that Celeborn found a good friend in Lady Oreth after so many of his family died, and the thought that they would spoil that for him if they could…I cannot bear it." She paused. "Do _you_ mind?"

"I mind because Oreth does," he answered simply.

"Well, she is young," Galadriel allowed. "I can see why she would."

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Many noble guests arrived for the wedding. Amdír was among them, so Celeborn was happily using the opportunity to talk to his distant kin, and Galadriel found others to spend time with. Elros came with all of his sons – to Galadriel's regret, Tindómiel, who she became friendly with in her recent visits to the island, stayed behind to care for the kingdom - but there were Lord Ciryatan and his suite, too. They arrived in ornate boats, Arminas sitting with his lord, and Galadriel and Ambë welcomed them with due respect at the shore. "Rodnor is quite busy at the moment, I'm afraid," the Nolde said, "so I hope you'll make do with us."

"Of course, my lady," Lord Ciryatan replied. "It's a pleasure as always."

Arminas bowed, and as they set out, Ambë did not hesitate to step to her uncle's side and hook her arm with his, eager to talk, making Galadriel naturally fall into step with Arminas.

"How are things in Grey Havens?" She asked.

"They are well, thank you, my lady."

"Does Lord Ciryatan miss his niece much?"

"He does," Arminas conceded. "But I do my best to make it up to-" But then he paused, and looked mortified.

"What is it?" Galadriel asked him, amused.

"I should not...disclose Lord Ciryatan's private matters," he said after a moment of hesitation.

"Private matters? I know well you are friends, and I do not see why you should try to conceal it."

Arminas, however, shook his head. "Perhaps he will tell you what I mean one day," he said. "Until then, it is not my place."

"You have me intrigued now, but I will not make you uncomfortable and will not pry. Instead, tell me more about life in Grey Havens."

He smiled, still a little tense, and shrugged. "There is little enough to tell, my lady. Small groups are beginning to appear who wish to sail, something that has not happened since the very beginnings of this age. Those who have only wished to stay a little while, to witness Middle-Earth without the Enemy, are departing. I am sure you have seen the ships."

"We have," Galadriel agreed, "though we only know for certain they have not been sailing to Númenórë when they do not return." The thought of Númenórë made her swallow. "Have you had any contact with Lord Ciryatan's kin from Tol Eressea?"

"No – I have not sailed to Númenórë, and neither has he. He says that he does not wish to see the elves of Aman until he is ready to sail to Aman. He seems to consider the idea dangerous."

"He agrees with the Valar, then."

"Yes, surprising, is it not?" Arminas said, and then caught himself again.

Galadriel shook her head. "You need not be so very careful," she said. "I do not find your references to Lord Ciryatan disrespectful."

"He is my lord," Arminas replied stonily. "I should maintain my proper distance."

Galadriel sighed. She wondered if Itarillë had had to overcome this sort of obstacles too, when she first became friendly with Lord Laurefindil.

They reached the palace, and Galadriel bid goodbye to Arminas, having a few things about the new guests' presence to arrange. When she was finally free again, she went in search of Lord Ciryatan to greet him properly, and to her surprise, found him not with Ambë, but sitting in the gardens with Lord Laurefindil. "My lords," she said, "I hope I'm not interrupting?"

Lord Laurefindil shot a quick look to Lord Ciryatan, who smiled. "Not at all," he said. "Do sit with us. We were just discussing the situation of the Select in Lindon. It has become a very important topic for me, for it concerns me now."

"Does some of your kin wish to make a Select marriage?" Galadriel asked.

"No," he replied serenely. "I do."

"Oh." Galadriel was not sure what else to say. She remembered Lord Ciryatan stating that his views of the Select used to be less than favourable. What must that feel like?

"Arminas, who used to be of your brother's people, became very dear to me," he added.

"My heartfelt congratulations, then," she said, very many things suddenly falling into place and making sense. She smiled, hoping he considered it an appropriate reaction. She certainly did. "Have you set a date?"

Lord Ciryatan sighed. "We are not that far yet. Arminas dearly wishes to do so, but it is not quite so easy for me. It still feels...wrong, somehow."

Here it was, then. "But there have been Select wedding in Grey Havens in the last century or two, have they not?" Galadriel assured herself.

"Yes. I even presided over some of them. It would have been hypocritical not to, when I knew how I felt, by that time. But...it is still different, when it concerns me." Lord Ciryatan paused. "I am over five thousand years old, my lady, and for most of that time I have lived in a world where Select relationships were regarded as shameful secrets. And I'm the lord of my people, many of whom remember those years as well as I do. It won't be easy, standing in front of them and announcing that I had this – well, what many regard as disability."

"You know it isn't so, however," Galadriel pointed out. He seemed to know it now, at any rate. "Have any of your people protested the marriages that already took place?"

"There are those who are unhappy with them, yes. I believe some of them are planning to leave with Amdír, to be able to live in a 'proper realm' as they said."

Galadriel laughed, and at Lord Ciryatan's questioning look, said: "I spoke to Celeborn. Amdír told him that one of the shocks they had to work through, when they founded their kingdoms full of Silvan elves, was how completely normal Select relationships were among them. If they wanted to be accepted as rulers, they had to accept these customs in turn. He said he'd never seen Oropher so frustrated in his life."

"And King Amdír didn't mind?" Lord Laurefindil asked with interests.

"Not that much, apparently. Amdír was never quite so personally loyal to Thingol, and lived outside the capital most of his life, too. I have a sneaking suspicion that there might have been things going on in other regions of his realm that Thingol didn't know about."

Lord Ciryatan thought about it. "You may well be right," he said. "There'd have been no weddings, but it might have been a little more like Falas, with the relationships being quietly tolerated." He considered. "I believe I'll go talk to King Amdír about this, to understand the background better."

He departed, and Galadriel smiled at Lord Laurefindil. "If Lord Ciryatan marries Arminas," she said, "then hopefully it will help wipe out the rest of this silly prejudice. People respect him."

"Let us hope they will continue to do so," Lord Laurefindil muttered, but then he shook his head. "No, I do believe you are right, my lady."

"Shall we congratulate our kin, then?"

They found Arminas with Ambë, laughing together. Galadriel smiled at the picture. "Can we interrupt for a moment, to speak to the lord?" She asked.

Ambë inclined her head and watched them curiously as they turned to Arminas. "We wished to congratulate you," Galadriel said, "in place of my brother, who can no longer do so, on your upcoming marriage."

He smiled, and looked very relieved. "Thank you, my lady," he said, "I'm glad Ciryatan told you. It will free me from some conversational constraints, which I am certain you noticed. But I am not sure if congratulations on an upcoming marriage are not a little premature. I am not wholly certain it will take place."

"Oh, I am. There is no telling when – it might well take Lord Ciryatan a while to make up his mind – but it will. And the Enemy is gone now...there is no rush."

He nodded. "Yes. Well, thank you again, my lady. It was kind of you. I...miss your brothers."

She sighed. "So do I, believe me. But I have hope that Angaráto, at least, walks in Aman again, and that calms me somewhat."

"I wish there was a way to know for sure. That the elves from Tol Eressëa would speak about this."

"There might be a good reason not to. Ways of the Valar are often mysterious to us, and it could be...upsetting to find out that such as we hoped would already be released were still among the living. No, I believe it is better not knowing...but I sometimes wish we did as well."

"Come, let's not be so grim," Ambë interrupted them in Sindarin. She understood Quenya, but did not speak it, much like Celeborn. "We should be joyful! The king is getting married – finally – and my uncle finally admitted his feelings for Arminas, at least semi-publicly. These are all good news!"

"I value your support, my lady," Arminas said.

"There was never any doubt of it," Ambë replied. "You know how much I love my uncle."

"Have you known for long?" Galadriel asked curiously.

"I can see his mind, so I suspected, and the last time I was in Grey Havens, I finally confronted him about it."

"I believe your intervention had been crucial to his decision to share the nature of our relationship at least with some, and to begin contemplating marriage," Arminas added. "So I'm thankful for that, as well."

"I have some experience with waiting too long, and denying yourself love," Ambë muttered. "I would not wish it on my worst enemy."

Galadriel embraced her, and Arminas said: "Come, my lady. You said we should be more cheerful!"

"True," Ambë muttered through the tears glistening in her eyes. "I'm being hypocritical. Come, some cheerful topics, quickly!"

"Elros told me about the argument among this children about who'd come to the wedding and who'd stay at home and run the kingdom," Galadriel remembered.

"Well then," Lord Laurefindil said with a smile, "what are you waiting for, my lady?"


	42. Choices

AN: Sorry for disappearing without a warning, I had two conferences immediately followed by vacation and I thought I'd be able to post during that, but that was foolishly optimistic of me. I'll try to make the three missed updates up to you, but there's no telling when, since I'm now in the "post-holiday stress" phase.

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 **Chapter 42: Choices**

 _Year 340 of the Second Age, Caras Aear_

Galadriel was walking with Elrond in the gardens by the beach when they came across Oreth and Celeborn sitting in one of the alcoves.

"Good afternoon, my love," Celeborn said. "Will you join us?"

She smiled and shook her head. "I will not disturb," he said, and with a simple nod of goodbye, she and Elrond continued on their way.

"The poor queen," her nephew said, "is terrified of you."

"I think anyone would be hard pressed to terrify our Queen," Galadriel returned.

"That is true enough, but you still manage. Then again, you _are_ the most terrifying thing left in Middle-Earth."

"Do not forget Lord Laurefindil."

"Well, it is a little hard for me to be terrified of him, is it not, when his fierceness is in my service? But he might strike fear in many hearts, I grant you that. Not as much as you, though."

Galadriel shook her head. "You know well the Queen is not cowed by my authority, or not excessively so, at least."

"No. That is not the reason she is terrified of you."

Galadriel, unfortunately, knew what he meant. "She has been the Queen for ninety years," she said. "I would have thought that would be enough to cure it, if the preceding century and half did not."

"Have you spoken to her?"

"I have tried to, many times, but she is a mistress of brushing me off and I am sure you know why I do not wish to force the conversation overmuch."

"And Celeborn?"

"He has told her her fear is unfounded many times. It is yet to work."

They turned a bend in the road and Elrond said: "Perhaps today is the day. She is coming to us."

And indeed she was. "Lady Galadriel," she said, on the surface as impenetrably calm as ever. "May I speak with you?"

"Of course." Galadriel nodded to Elrond, who disappeared on a different path, and asked: "Shall we walk?"

They did. There was a very long silence until finally, Oreth said: "You wouldn't have disturbed us by your presence."

"Of course I would have," Galadriel returned. "I don't wish for Celeborn to be present during my private talks with your husband or Elrond either. That is the point of close friendships, after all, that the friends share time in private."

"You speak of friends, and yet Rodnor and Elrond are both more like family to you, aren't they?"

"Yes, they're like sons to me. And Celeborn is my husband, and you're Rodnor's wife. Doesn't that make you family as well?"

"Celeborn didn't meet me until I was eighty."

"Do you believe he loves you any less for it?"

Oreth stayed silent, and Galadriel answered her own question: "You believe I do."

"I spend a lot of time with your husband. I've heard the talk it gives raise to. I'm certain you must have as well."

"Yes, and I'm equally certain my husband told you I don't care in the slightest." She paused: "Has he ever told you what kind of talk there used to be about me?"

"I don't believe so."

"Some of his relations insisted that I didn't save his nephews in Doriath, even though I could have, because I desired the Silmarils. He paid that talk no mind, and there is no reason to pay this talk any more."

Oreth frowned. "I never thought you'd believe the talk," she explained. "I mean, he is your husband. You can see his mind. But...I believe you'd have a reason to be upset that such talk exists."

"Oh, I am," Galadriel replied, a hint of anger sounding in her tone. "Not with you or Celeborn, though, with those who are spreading it. But I've seen malicious gossip take root in the Blessed Lands. I can hardly be surprised that it does so in Middle-Earth as well."

"Yet if I didn't spend as much time with Celeborn, it would cease."

"And you and him would both lose one you love, the value of which can't be overstated. Why would I demand such a choice?"

There was another long silence as they walked. "I...misjudged you, my lady. I'm sorry," Oreth said at length.

"If something, be sorry you didn't trust Celeborn when he told you so. He loves you, and he would not lie to you."

Oreth only nodded. "Sarnel's been asking for you," she said then. "She's excited about King Elros' upcoming visit, and wants to hear all you can tell her about him."

"Then I'll go to her without delay, and you can find my husband and tell him that this foolish business has been laid to rest."

"Yes, my lady," Oreth replied, and though she tried to make her voice as level as usual, there was a small trace of sheepishness to be heard there.

Unsurprisingly, Galadriel found Elrond already in the princesses' quarters, in the middle of what was apparently a long conversation with Princess Maewel. "The Second Children see the world differently," he was saying at the moment.

"I know that," she replied, "but he is your brother. Twin, even. How can he see the world differently from you?"

Galadriel sighed. Maewel was usually a wise young lady, but in her quest for knowledge, she sometimes forgot her empathy. "I have heard your sister has been asking for me," she interrupted the conversation.

"Yes, without a pause," Maewel confirmed. "She is in her room."

Those words proved to be untrue, however, for the younger princess had apparently heard Galadriel's voice and ran out into the shared antechamber to greet her. "Aunt!" She called. "Is it true that King Elros rules a faraway land where everything is beautiful?"

"Númenórë is not that very far, beloved, though it is indeed an exceptionally blessed land."

"Is it more beautiful than my father's kingdom?"

Children and their tricky questions. "I believe most rulers consider their own realm the most beautiful," she replied.

"But what do you think?" Sarnel insisted.

Galadriel sighed, and doing her best to push her pain about this away, replied: "There are parts of Númenórë that are beautiful beyond anything in these lands, but I like Lindon better in some ways, for it is connected to Middle-Earth, while the realm Elros rules is out in the sea, on an island."

"Will I ever see it?"

"When you are older, I can take you with me," Galadriel conceded.

"Why only when I am older?"

"Because journeying on the sea is not for children."

"And when will I be old enough to go?"

At this point, Maewel, who was still trying to hold a serious discussion with Elrond, gave her sister a tired look. "I believe," Galadriel said, smiling, "that we should continue this conversation outside, before your sister's exasperation overcomes her normally calm nature. Come, there is a particularly beautiful rose bloom to be seen in the garden."

"I do not want to see a rose bloom," Sarnel stated unequivocally. "I want to see King Elros!"

Inside the room, her sister closed her eyes and shook her head.

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When the long-expected party finally arrived, the princesses were not present, of course. They waited in the capital with their parents, while Galadriel, Celeborn and Elrond rode to Grey Havens to welcome them.

The royal delegation was numerous this time, more numerous than it has ever been before. Elros disembarked and embraced all of his loved ones warmly, but behind him, there were others.

Vardamir walked out next, noble and self-possessed, and bowed slightly to Celeborn and Galadriel. "Allow me to introduce my son," he said then, to Celeborn who had not met him yet, "Prince Amandil."

The prince - younger, but equally noble-looking - stepped out from behind his father and made a deeper bow. "I'm very pleased to meet you, my lord," he said in a strongly accented Sindarin. "I've heard much about you."

"I hope I won't disappoint, then," Celeborn said with a smile. "I'm pleased to meet you as well."

Vardamir, meanwhile, stepped to the side to greet Elrond. "Uncle," he said, "I am very glad you came here to welcome us. There are matters I have been most eager to discuss with you."

Elros laughed. "And we shall not see you for the rest of the visit," he said. "Go, go, discuss what you want. I will take care of the rest of the introductions." He gestured to his side, to the others who have left the ship. "This is my daughter, Princess Tindómiel. Prince Atancalar you know already, of course. Prince Manwendil stayed behind to take care of the kingdom. And this is Princess Vardilmë, Vardamir's daughter."

There were polite bows of greeting, and then Galadriel said: "I am surprised you did not leave Amandil behind to rule."

"Ah, but that would go against the purpose of this visit," he said with a smile. "You see, Amandil will be getting married soon. We came to invite you to the wedding."

She smirked, and as they set out towards Lord Ciryatan's house, she asked quietly: "And is this bride to your liking?"

"Well, there was not so much at stake this time," he defended himself. "Ad you know I admit my mistake in case of Ailinel. They are very happy with Vardamir."

Galadriel nodded, and smiled. "Any other news from your realm?"

"Not much." He shrugged. "I could bore you with endless details, but I know very well that only two years have passed since your last visit to Númenórë, almost no time by your count."

"But it is not my perception I ask about, it is yours. Does not time pass more quickly for you?"

"Compared to you, yes, though more slowly than it does for my people. But do you truly wish to hear about new roads built and new aristocratic marriages?"

"I wish to hear what is important to you," she replied, a little chiding, "whatever it is."

He smiled. "Forgive me," he said. "Sometimes it is difficult to flow between the two worlds I consider myself part of, my past and my present."

"Do you regard us as only your past, then?"

His smile turned into a thoughtful frown. "You are more like a secret, hidden part of me. I live with my people and share their griefs and joys, but there is this whole another aspect to my life, one they cannot share, however much they might wish to. Even Vardamir, who has such close friendship with my brother and who, I believe, regards him almost as much as a father as he does me...not even he can truly understand and be part of this world. I know it pains him sometimes, too, and I wonder if I had not raised my first son too much in the elven spirit, in spite of my best efforts."

"You are who you are, Elros, you cannot change that."

He sighed. "Vardamir considers passing the crown directly to Amandil after my death," he said. "He does not wish to rule."

"I hope you do not believe that is an elven influence," Galadriel replied, chuckling a little in spite of the serious topic.

He smiled in response. "How could I, when it was you who raised me?"

They grew serious. "Do you not trust Amandil to be a good king?" She asked.

"I...am not certain. You know my doubts about Vardamir, doubts he himself clearly shares. He says he is not decisive enough to be a king, and I agree. But...with four children and ruling a kingdom, I did not have as much time for my grandchildren as I wish I had. In some ways, I believe Amandil is better suited than Vardamir, but I simply do not know him enough."

Galadriel hesitated. "I know I ask you this almost every time we meet, but do you plan to leave this world soon?"

"Not quite yet, though the day _is_ approaching. Adanel, especially, finds the burdens of the world very hard to bear now, and even I am getting impatient with them. But there are several decades before us still."

Galadriel tried to ignore the pain she felt at that pronouncement for the moment. "Then use the time you have left, and get to know your grandson properly. It may calm your mind when your time comes." She paused. "Will Adanel bear to stay with you in the world long enough for this?"

"She still does not feel the call of death directly. I truly believe you were right, and that we will be granted the possibility of dying together. The Valar are merciful."

"Yes," Galadriel muttered, "I suppose they can be."

It was only later, when she was alone with Celeborn in their bedroom, that she allowed herself to fully realize what Elros had said. That in a few decades, he would be dead.

Forever gone.

She would not see him or speak to him again until the end of the world.

It was impossible to contemplate, and in this moment, Galadriel desperately thought of her brother. How could Ingoldo ever manage? How could he be so friendly with the Second-born when he knew they would die so very, very soon? How could he even form friendships when…?

It simply hurt too much. She knew Elros from a baby, and raised him from a child, and the notion that he would pass beyond her reach and she would remain, year after year, missing him…

And then, of course, there was the knowledge of what would happen to Elrond after his brother died.

She had dreaded this before, but now that she contemplated the possibility in detail, there was only one thing on her mind, and so she turned to the Valar, even though she knew she gave up any right to further prayers when she had prayed for Itarillë and even though she was bitter against them these days. Still, she prayed: _do not let him fade_.

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They spent two days in Grey Havens with Lord Ciryatan and Arminas. Galadriel, though not wishing to pry, could not quite help the questioning eyebrow she directed at Arminas when she first saw him by Lord Ciryatan's side, and the frown the felt on her face at his discreet shake of the head.

She found an opportunity to speak to him privately later, and get more details. "Most of the Havens know, by now, that we wish to marry," he said, "but Ciryatan is still hesitating. Sometimes I feel as if I am doing the wrong thing, for pushing him into this. He very afraid, in many ways."

"You would truly be wrong if you pushed him," Galadriel agreed, "but it is not wrong to help him do something he himself wishes to do, to help him overcome fear...as long as you are patient about it."

Arminas nodded, considering.

Tindómiel employed him as her guide in the lands around the havens for the two days they stayed, and on this occasion, Galadriel discovered that it was actually him who was responsible for organizing the scouts who mapped the area to the east of Lindon.

"It is good to know," she told Lord Ciryatan, "I will consult with him about looking for a place for my realm."

"He'll be happy to help," Lord Ciryatan agreed. "And in return, I have something to ask as well – do you think you could bring Celebrimbor with you when next you come, or send him with Amonel? There are some improvements we're making to the harbour and we'd like to consult him."

Galadriel's face became carefully neutral. "I'll communicate the message," she said.

Lord Ciryatan frowned. "Has there been a quarrel?" He asked.

"Not a quarrel, exactly," Galadriel replied, "but I have discovered that he has some thoughts and feelings regarding his mother that...are an affront, to me. He refuses to recognize the wrongness of it. Ever since we first discussed it, our relationship remains a little strained. We do talk, but it is simply markedly less cordial than it used to be."

"Is it something I could help with?"

Galadriel shook her head. "The information about Midhel this concerns is private." she said, "and without sharing it with you, I can't make you understand the problem."

"Then I'll simply pray for full reconciliation," he said. "Strife is never good."

"No," Galadriel agreed, "but neither is blatant disrespect to a parent."

Tindómiel returned in the evening of that day, and the next, they all travelled to Caras Aear. Galadriel used the journey to talk to the princess, since she had not had the chance until then, what with her being away with Arminas. "Did your brother volunteer to stay in Númenórë this time?" She asked.

"Not exactly," Tindómiel returned. "I told him I wanted to go, and that my visit was long overdue, and that surely he did not want me to die before I could set my eyes on Middle-Earth, and, well, in the end he just gave up."

Galadriel laughed. "And what to you think of these lands so far?"

"Well, I have not seen much, have I? I hope to travel across Lindon at least, after some time in the capital. I simply want to take as much out of this visit as I can. My eldest brother constantly talks about your libraries, too, so I would like to be able to see that as well."

"I am not certain that, between the two of them, Vardamir and Elrond had not transcribed all of our works and not transferred them to Númenórë. At least the most interesting ones."

"Very possible, I suppose. Still, the library of Caras Aear has gained a legendary status in my mind, and I wish to see it with my own eyes."

"It is impressive," Galadriel admitted, "but be careful of our librarian. He bites sometimes."

She laughed. "Yes, I have heard. They say the only one who can really control Erestor when he is in a mood is Quendingoldo."

"Hmm, yes, but that is only because Erestor wants him to keep writing, so he cannot afford to antagonize him. He is kind to Elrond and Artanáro as well too, usually, because he knows that the library only exists by their leave," Galadriel replied in equally good humour. She was exaggerating, of course – Erestor and Artanáro were good friends, and a close bond connected him with Elrond now, too, from what she knew.

"And to you?" Tindómiel asked mischievously.

"I would not exactly call it kind," Galadriel said with a smile, "but we have managed to come to an understanding."

They reached the city, and after the official welcome the party broke up to find their rooms and get refreshed before the feast. Galadriel next talked to Tindómiel only a day later, when she found her in company of the Lindon princesses, who seemed to be pestering her with questions. "Girls," Galadriel said sternly. "Is this any way to treat a guest?"

"She does not mind, do you?" Sarnel said insistently.

Tindómiel laughed. "No," she said, "but I _was_ looking for the library when you assaulted me, and I would still like to find it."

"The library?" Sarnel made a face. "Why a library, libraries are boring."

Maewel gave her an exasperated look. "To you, maybe," she said. "But I would be glad to accompany you there, my lady," she added to Tindómiel.

"No, I'll go to, I'll go!" Sarnel insisted.

Galadriel joined the group, feeling that she should protect the poor Númenorean princess from the terror that were both of Artanáro's daughters together. They reached the library amidst constant chatter, and opened the door to find Erestor and Quendingoldo in earnest discussion.

They fell silent when they saw who entered their sanctuary, and both bowed. "We did not wish to interrupt you," Galadriel said. "By all means, continue your argument."

"It was not an argument, my lady," Quendingoldo replied, dignified as always, "we were merely exchanging scholarly opinion."

"On what, if I may ask?" Tindómiel said. "I am very interested."

"Then I believe introductions are in order," Galadriel interceded, and arranged them.

Tindómiel was impressed. "Erestor and Quendingoldo," she said. "I have wished to meet both of you for a long time."

"It is an honour for us, my lady," Quendingoldo returned.

"Will you tell us what was your discussion about, then?"

"Oh, there is this interesting feature of some Sindarin dialects that have been influenced by Quenya-"

The door opened in that moment, and Lord Laurefindil entered, sweeping the room with his eyes. "There you are!" He said when he spied Sarnel. "I have been looking for you everywhere. I thought it almost impossible you would be in the library of all places, but well, I have looked every other place more likely, so..."

"It is scarcely less improbable to see you in the library, my lord," Erestor observed in his usual sardonic manner.

Lord Laurefindil only smiled. "When you remember it all, you have no need of libraries," he said good-humouredly, and Erestor seemed a little taken aback at the response.

"Well?" Lord Laurenfindil insisted, to Sarnel. "Have you decided to give up training?"

Sarnel looked at Tindómiel a little dubiously. "Will you be talking about...what as the word? Dee-lects?"

Tindómiel gave Quendingoldo a short look. "We will," she said firmly.

"Well then," Sarnel declared, turning to Lord Laurefindil and taking his hand, "let us train!"

Galadriel left with them, taking Maewel too. She had never known that Tindómiel was interested in linguistics, but it was true that she had never asked.

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The mystery of Tindómiel's sudden interest was discovered mere few days later, when Tindómiel knocked at Galadriel's door late one evening, not seeming quite herself.

"I am sorry to disturb you," she said.

"It is of no matter. Come in. Has something happened?"

Tindómiel smiled a little shakily. "You could say that, yes. I...fear that I might have fallen in love."

Galadriel took in the fear in her eyes and immediately understood. "With an elf," she said.

"Yes. With Quendingoldo."

Galadriel slowly exhaled.

"What shall I do?" The princess cried. "I have never even considered...this is the first time I am among elves, I only really know Uncle Elrond and you, Númenórë was always my home, I never thought about leaving it! But now I cannot...I cannot even think about not being with him, it hurts too much."

"Have you spoken about this?" Galadriel asked, motioning to a chair.

Tindómiel collapsed into it. "Not...not directly, no, but I believe we both know, only he wishes to avoid the topic. We spent the last several days in almost constant conversation, I feel like everyone in the entire city must know, and yet we never talk about anything but academics!"

Galadriel understood why that would be so. Tindómiel's family was mortal, and she was a princess, while Quendingoldo, though a notable scholar, was of common origin. He had reasons to be afraid, and those reasons could obscure the Flame from him, which was another complication.

"What do you wish to do, then?" She asked.

"What _can_ I do?" Tindómiel returned. "There is not really any choice, is there?" She added bitterly. "I know that those who fall in love with an elf get to feel the Flame as well. I would have been free from it otherwise, but now, how could I reject it?"

"You do not have to marry him," Galadriel pointed out.

"Yes, and suffer through the rest of my days in longing! Even if I choose the mortal fate – which I have always intended to do, until now – I have no wish to die soon! Yet what joy would I have left in this world if I lived without him? What joy did Andreth have left, in her days without your brother? Oh, tis a curse!"

"It is also a blessing," Galadriel said softly.

"What would you know about that? You only ever reaped the benefits!"

"Do not speak about things you do not understand," the Nolde said in a sharp tone. "I had to abandon my family and my dreams for Celeborn, and live in a realm where I was despised by many and where I could not even speak my mother tongue. Yes, my sacrifice was not as great as yours might be, but I paid for this as well."

Tindómiel exhaled, tilting her head back to lean it on the wall. "Forgive me, Aunt. It is only that...I have felt lonely, at times, during my centuries, but I mostly came to peace with the idea that I would live in my brother's family and help Amandil with governing the kingdom one day. And now...everything is changed, and I had no choice in it, and I..."

"I know," Galadriel said, softly again, and pressed her hands. "I know."

After a moment, a little more calm, Tindómiel continued. "I do not think I have much in common with elves either. How could I live with you, how could I become one of you? Uncle Elrond is entirely a foreign creature to me – even Qunedingoldo is, in spite of what I feel for him – and even you, Aunt, are so very strange and different from what I know, in spite of all the ways in which I feel you understand me...how could this be the life for me?"

"You said yourself that you only truly know two elves," Galadriel pointed out. "There are some I have known who were certainly more like you than either me or Elrond – or Quendingoldo." She smiled sadly. "My cousin Irissë, in some ways. Lord Laurefindil, in others. And perhaps most of all, Findekáno, my closest friend."

"King Findekáno? High King of the Noldor in Middle-Earth?" Tindómiel asked in astonishment.

Galadriel smiled at that. "Yes," she said, "though I was thinking of the days long before he was king, in Aman, back when we thought our grandfather would rule forever and we would never leave those lands, before The Enemy put strife among us. I will tell you stories of him, if you want, and perhaps Amonel will, too, if it does not hurt her too much. And there are others you could meet today who are more like you. You saw Sarnel. Surely you do not feel she is so very different from you?"

Tindómiel laughed. "She is a child," she said. "I am sure she will grow into a very dignified creature."

"I doubt that very much. She, too, is reminiscent of Irissë in some ways, and while she was certainly fearsome, I do not know if I would call her dignified." Galadriel smiled. "Elves have different characters each, and while there are some differences from Men, mainly tying to the length of our life and the tight bond we have with the world, I do not believe you would be lost among us. Still, the choice is yours."

Tindómiel slowly nodded. "I know that," she said. "That is what terrifies me."


	43. Departing

AN: Chapters to compensate for the missed update: 1/3.

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 **Chapter 43: Departing**

 _Year 442 of the Second Age, Armenelos_

It was a solemn procession that entered the gates of the Númenorean capital and continued to the royal palace, and it was a solemn city that welcomed them. All knew it was time for the beloved king to die, and all marked the occasion with the respect and gravity it deserved, an important mark in their kingdom's history and departure of a great hero.

The elves who loved him, on the other hand, mourned, and none mourned as much as his twin brother, who as Galadriel could see had to exert all of his strength to keep from breaking in front of the Númenorean public. When they dismounted their horses, she took his arm in support, Artanáro took the other, and together they proceeded to king's chambers.

He was there, saying goodbye to his human family. "You came," he said when he saw them.

"Of course we came," Artanáro scoffed. "What did you expect?"

Elrond, however, simply ran to him and embraced him with all his might.

Galadriel looked away, for it seemed almost indecent to watch such a moment. As much as Queen Melian suffered after she learned of Lúthien's fate, she at least did not have to watch her daughter go. So many hard choices…

Elros looked at his human family and said: "If you would leave me alone with my elven relations for a while?"

His wife, children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren all left, except for Tindómiel, who hesitated in the doorway. She had made her choice and married Quendingoldo two years ago, but she still lived in Númenórë, wishing to spend her parents' last years with them. She was now counted among the elves, but did not live like one, and did not know where she belonged. Elros nodded at her, and so she stayed, hovering by the door as her father fully turned to them for the first time. "Sometimes," he said, very quietly, "I regret my choice."

Galadriel stepped closer to his chair and took his hand. "Do you not feel tired of the world?"

"I do. I could never, however, feel tired of you."

Galadriel sighed. "But you could, if you waited too long. I have never lived with Men, but I have observed enough. Even here in this blessed land, everything grows weary for you in time, even your loved ones."

"Is that a curse?" He asked bitterly.

"Sometimes, I believe it is a sign that you are the true beloved of the One, for your heart is restless until it rests in Him."

"Why send us to this world at all, then?" He demanded.

"You know why," Galadriel said in a chiding tone. "You were meant to be its salvation. And beloved, I know farewells are painful, but you have lived through much beauty in this world. Do not allow yourself to forget it."

She kissed his hand and turned to leave. "I will leave you alone with your brother for now. Call us when you are...ready."

She, Lord Laurefindil, Celeborn and Artanáro left the room, and Tindómiel went with them. She was shaking. "I will not see him again," she said. "Not until the end of the world...did I choose wrong?"

"Imagine not seeing Quendingoldo again for those thousands of years, and then tell me."

"But why do I have to choose between them?" Tindómiel cried, and Galadriel embraced her and held her tightly.

It was several hours before Elros called Galadriel in, alone, and when she entered, Elrond was sitting by him and holding his hand, his face ashen.

"Aunt," Elros said with a smile, a smile tinged with pain and bitterness.

"Beloved," she returned, stepping to him and taking his other hand.

"I asked my brother to take care of my children and their descendants, to always guide them on their way and to stay by them, but I have a special wish to make of you."

"Tindómiel," Galadriel finished for him.

"Yes. Not that I think Elrond will neglect her, but she loves you well, and she will be estranged from her family in time. I trust Quendingoldo fully, but...be to her what I will not be able to any more."

"I promise I will, beloved. For you and for her."

He pressed her hand. "I wish you happiness in your years here," he said, "and success to your kingdom. I am well aware how much you long to found it, and know that I value your staying here for all the days of my life."

"There was never any question," she replied, and silence fell between them for a while, because what was there to say in such a moment, when words were not enough, never could be enough, when she was facing eternity without him? She embraced him, then, and held him tightly, trying to express all of her love and care and everything he ever meant for her while holding herself together with all of her power because the brothers did not need to deal with her grief now, they had enough of their own.

They stayed like that for a long while, and then with a deep sigh, Elros hid most of his despair away and called for his human family. At them he smiled and talked about meeting The One and waiting for them in His presence, in the eternal joy that awaited him.

He meant no falsehood, she knew. He truly hoped in that, but he had his ties to elves that could not be so easily dissolved, and his source of pain was in the farewell to them. There was no reason to have the Men he loved see it. It could sour their own death for them.

Then Elros took of Ingoldo's ring from his finger and motioned for Vardamir to come closer and receive it from him. "Father," Vardamir said hesitatingly, "you know I mean for Amandil to rule after you..."

"Yes, but this does not mark kingship. It marks our friendship with the House of Arafinwë, and so the head of our House should always be the one to bear it on their finger. Keep it for now, and you will give it to Amandil when your time to join me comes."

Reluctantly, Vardamir accepted the ring, and with a fleeting look and Galadriel, slipped it on his finger.

The king of Númenórë then went and lay on the carefully prepared bed, and Adanel went to lie next to him. There was only relief in her face, relief at finally being free of the burdens of the world, and joy at the idea of meeting The One with her husband at her side. She was truly, deeply happy in that moment, and her children saw that, and so apart from Tindómiel, they all wished their parents happy journey with only a slight melancholy born of the knowledge that they would not see them for some decades. Vardamir even seemed slightly envious, and Elendil, Amandil's eldest son, looked almost curious, as if this close encounter with death could give him a glimpse of what lay behind. Galadriel had never felt the difference between elves and Men more clearly.

And then the king and queen both smiled, said goodbye, and closed their eyes.

In spite of the bravery Galadriel displayed to give courage to both brothers, watching Elros depart Arda was one of the hardest things she had ever done in her life, and Elrond's grief was so loud to her mind it felt like the whole world could drown in it.

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They all carried their pain from that parting for a long time, and it hung like a shadow over Caras Aear for months and years to come. Even children grew subdued in presence of such raw grief, and even Erestor was moved to compassion.

Galadriel, for her part, struggled to do her duties for a long time after Elros' passing, and woke and fell asleep with her mind on his absence. At least he is with the One now, she tried to calm herself, he is where no woe can touch him, with Adanel for ever, and also with Lúthien and Beren, who surely must be glad to have one of their kin with them at least.

Could one even be glad of anything, in the life that awaited the Second born after death? Was there even room for anything beyond the presence of the One?

She chased such thoughts away. There was no reason to despair for Elros. He was happy now. It was herself she wept for, and the wound that would never entirely heal, to join that of Lúthien's absence. But still, with Lúthien, her presence in this world had always seemed unreal in a way. Elros as just as real, just as much part of her, as Elrond or Artanáro, and now he was gone. The boy she protected from Nelyafinwë, the boy who bravely stated he was not afraid of the kinslayer who slaughter many of his family, the young man who insisted to join the war and who was so protective of the Second born even before they became properly his people, the man who became wise and powerful king of the most beautiful realm to be seen east of Aman...gone, gone, gone forever, and she would not see him again until the end of the world, not hear his teasing, not see him come to ask for advice...it was all lost to her, and only his echoes in memories remained, to torment her with their taunting accuracy. _Yes, this was his face, this was his smile, these were his eyes, and you will never see them again._

Galadriel felt raw from all the pain, and yet, like with her other losses, as time passed, the wound became less fresh. Minds of those who loved Elros were distracted by other things, by the beauty of the world around them and by those of their loved ones who were still alive.

All minds, that was, except Elrond's. He was healing very slowly if he was healing at all, and though he did not seem at the verge of fading, he could not survive like this indefinitely, and as Galadriel began to be able to see things further beyond her own grief, she was beginning to worry.

Artanáro held a feast every year in Elros' memory, and in it, too, the changing nature of grieving showed, from the mournful atmosphere of the first one to melancholy of the later ones, where sadness mixed with fond memories, and where stories about the first king of Númenórë were told by those who knew him, including his daughter. Tindómiel was bearing the death of Elros better than Elrond. She, at least, had Quendingoldo to keep her afloat, and she had always known her father would die one day, though not that she would stay in the world without him for so long.

She was telling one such story now, and Erestor, sitting next to her, was providing a sardonic commentary.

"Sometimes," Galadriel muttered, "he tries my nerves so hard, even when I know what is behind his attitude."

Lord Laurefindil, who was next to her, smiled. "You must admit there is something about him, though, my lady."

"Well, he is a very good librarian and a very good scholar, I cannot deny that."

He shook his head. "Not quite what I meant."

Perhaps Galadriel was truly being unfair. Elrond was Erestor's friend, after all, and surely the younger elf would not say anything if he thought it would be hurtful. Perhaps her worry was making her too protective. She looked at Elrond carefully. Yes, it appeared he was even smiling a little, a rare enough sight to be seen. Perhaps Erestor knew what he was doing.

"Sometimes," she said, "I also believe I am getting old."

Lord Laurefindil laughed at that, and as soon as Tindómiel's story ended, he went to speak to Erestor himself. Galadriel heard something about sharpening his wit on someone more battle-hardened than a young Númenorean princess, and Tindómiel defending herself, but then Ambë appeared in Lord Laurefindil's place and Galadriel diverted her attention to her.

"Do you ever feel old?" She asked her.

"Only when speaking to Oreth," she replied, and they both laughed a little. "Lord Glorfindel doesn't look like the long years gave him the same gravity of worries they gave us," Ambë added.

"Well, he did go through Mandos. I believe it frees you from that, as well."

"True. And, to be fair, we're neither of us at our most lighthearted now, for reasons largely unrelated to age."

Galagril nodded, and pressed Ambë's hand in silent sympathy.

"How is Elrond?" The Sinda asked.

"That is what I'm constantly trying to ascertain. I worry."

"You have some reason," Ambë agreed.

Galadriel watched him the whole evening, and saw that while he smiled at some of the stories his friends shared, in unguarded moments his face was still filled with raw grief and despair. His mind was a dark abyss. Determined, she searched our Artanáro.

"Something has to be done," she said, glancing towards Elrond.

"I agree – but what? How is a wound like this to be healed?"

"Not healed...that is impossible, at least outside of Aman. But he needs something else to focus on, beyond his grief. He only has Númenórë, which only reminds him of Elros."

"Do you believe if I gave him more council work, it would help?"

"Perhaps...but I feel something more out of the ordinary would be better."

That was when Galadriel finally decided to put into practice her long intended plan to explore Middle-Earth. There was only one problem.

"I'd always assumed we'd make this journey together," she told Celeborn, "but now I feel very strongly that I need to go alone with Elrond."

Celeborn did not appear to mind. "You know I have no love of traveling," he replied.

"Yes, but if I hope to choose the place where we'd build our kingdom in future? Shouldn't you be there?"

"I trust you, my love. Choose a place and then take me there later. I'd be very surprised if I didn't approve. You know my heart, and you know my wishes."

"Yes." She took his hand and kissed it. "I'm very thankful to you for your understanding."

"I mightn't have raised Elrond to the same degree you did," he replied, "but I grew to love him too, through the years."

Galadriel could only embrace him in response. In this she felt her duty to Elrond took the first place.

They set out within the year, armed chiefly by the most detailed maps they could find. They stayed for a month with Lord Ciryatan and Arminas, using travel as an opportunity to speak to friends, but then they headed further east, crossing Emyn Uial, and soon after, they found themselves in the Great Forest.

Galadriel had been missing woods ever since she left Doriath, but this was a very different place. It did not have the many clearings and glades she knew, and in fact, light hardly shone there. Flowers were rare, animals were hidden from them, and the trees were different. "This forest does not wish to be lived in," Galadriel observed.

"How can you tell?" Elrond asked. He had been a little uplifted by this journey, she observed, even though he still tended to fall into dark spells. But his curiosity was encouraging.

"You have not ever lived in one, so you do not know the difference," she said. "Perhaps if we come across a more open-minded one, I will be able to show you. Some woods like sharing their space with as many animals, elves and flowers as possible, while others prefer their privacy. This is clearly the second case." She frowned. "The road should have never led through here...do we know who built it?"

"Perhaps the dwarves?" Elrond suggested.

"Dwarves? Willingly building a road through a forest when they could have gone around? That seems extremely unlikely." She frowned again. "There must be some ents here somewhere, in a forest this big..." She stopped and sent her mind out, searching. What she found astonished her. "There are, truly, ents," she admitted, "but there is another power here too, a power that..." She trailed off and led the horse off the road.

"Aunt?" Elrond called hesitatingly. "Aunt, should we be doing this? We are no rangers, and if the trees do not want us here..."

"They will not attack us, beloved, they would just appreciate it if we left as soon as possible. Which we will, but...I cannot leave this unexplored."

"What is it, then?"

"I would tell you, but I cannot explain it well myself. It is very clearly benign, and very clearly strong, but beyond that..."

She could see she did not reassure Elrond, but what could she do?

They found the first ents a day later. Galadriel bowed before them respectfully. "Greetings, Shepherds of Trees," she said. "I hope we are not disturbing your forest too much."

"Not too much," came the answer, "but you are disturbing. What do you seek here? You are far from the road."

"I apologize for that, but a power dwells here that I can sense and that I would very much like to meet."

The ents murmured between themselves. "We do not know if he wants to see you," was the final answer. "But wait here and we will ask. There is no need for you to go further into the forest."

Galadriel assented immediately. Elrond was still confused. "What is it, Aunt, what do you sense?"

"Try it yourself. Can you not sense it?"

Elrond paused. "I feel...something. But I do not know what it is."

"Neither do I, as I have told you."

"But...you have been to the West, and you know Lady Melian...do you believe a Maia dwells here?"

"Not unless he is completely different from all the Maiar I have ever known. But we will wait."

They waited. And then, from a distance, they heard a song.

It had no words, but it was joyful and cheerful and it was approaching. Soon, they saw a small man dressed in bright blue, who seemed to be skipping on the forest floor. And yet what Galadriel felt…

"What do we have here?" He asked, once he was close. "Two elves lost in the forest, yes?"

"We are not lost, my lord," Galadriel replied unevenly. "We came to see you."

"To see me? And why? Have you heard of me in some tale, and set out to see the wonder for yourselves?"

"No, my lord. We entered the forest, and I felt your presence."

He looked at her more closely. "Felt my presence, did you. Hm, hm, nothing escapes this one. So now you see me. What do you want with me?"

"I...merely wanted to meet you. You are not...what I imagined when I felt you," she couldn't resist saying.

"You imagine too much of things you know nothing about," he told her cheerfully. "Come, I will lead you out of this forest, you have disturbed the trees long enough. You can meet me on the way."

Galadriel had not felt so much like a little girl since she left Aman. Of those she knew, he reminded her of Olórin the most, and yet… She knew she would probably receive no sensible answer, but she still had to ask: "Who are you?"

He gave her a look over his shoulder, a look that seemed a little chiding. "I am. That is enough. I was, too, and I will be. But you will not be happy with that, will you? No, always questions, I can hear them rattling in your heads, even though the dark-haired one does not speak. So I will tell you more. I am the eldest, you could say. I remember the world before it was poisoned, before the Dark One came from Outside."

"Do you remember the world before the first elves came?" Galadriel asked carefully.

"Of course! I remember the world before the first acorn. I said I was the eldest."

"Have you always been in Middle-Earth, then? I do not remember you from Aman."

"And once again, you imagine too much of things you know nothing about. I have told you some and I will not tell you more. Now come, the trees wish to be rid of you."

They rode in silence and speed behind him for a long time, among the trees and across a river, but when they saw the edge of the forest, Galadriel asked: "Would you mind if we came back across your forest once more, my lord?"

"Hm, you hope I will answer more questions then, do you? The trees do not want to see you. But if you come to the borders, perhaps I will walk with you for a while. Now go."

When they turned back after a short distance, they could see him no more.

It was a long time before Elrond finally asked the question. "Who was it? I felt...so light in his presence, and even now after he left us, it is as if a great burden was taken from me. As if...well, as if Elros was with me again. That is...not something I could have ever hoped to feel again. So who is he?"

Galadriel chuckled. She felt very light too, so light she had not felt...well, perhaps since leaving Aman, too. "I told you I did not know. I understand that I have raised you in the impression that I know everything – and do not mistake me, I know a lot – but I do not know this."

"But...I know what can be found in the world, from what you taught me and what I learned myself later. He was no elf nor man nor dwarf, and not a monster either. He was clearly not a Vala, and you said he did not feel like a Maia. So who is he?"

"I – and your books - taught you about the world as the Eldar understand it. It does not follow that that is everything there is to know about the world. I have never been in this part of Middle-Earth before, and I know nothing about this Eldest, except that he is unlike anything I have known before."

Elrond seemed deeply dissatisfied with her answer, and they rode in silence for a long time.

There were hardly any trees in the lands around them, and they rode mostly through marches or march-like terrain until they came to a river. "It is too deep to cross here," Galadriel muttered. The Eldest had led their horses though deeper waters, but there was very little The Eldest could not do, she felt. "We have to turn back north."

She rode quickly now, even through the marshes they encountered, for she could glimpse mountains in the distance and that filled her with desire to be there and see them, for they seemed very high indeed. Their maps told them that the river should be splitting in two soon, and Galadriel hoped that would be their chance to cross. Fortune was with them, even though the horses were clearly unhappy with the first crossing.

And then, finally, Galadriel set her eyes on the Misty Mountains for the first time in her life, and she knew that this was where her fate would be.

She was reminded of her home in Hithlum, and yet the land there was mostly bare, while here, there were flowers and trees aplenty. There were no more swamps to be found, only beauty.

She turned to look at Elrond, and immediately saw that he, too, fell in love with the majesty of the high peaks. "Is this what your home in the North was like?" He asked in awe.

"A little. If I make my home here, I believe it will be even more beautiful, for here, the best of Hithlum and Doriath could meet."

They stayed there, admiring, for a long time, and then slowly rode south along the mountain ridge, stopping often when they saw a view of particular charm. And then, a day and a half of such riding later, they arrived to a place of such extraordinary beauty that Galadriel knew immediately. "Here," she said, without the smallest hesitation. "This is where I will settle."

Elrond could only nod.

It was a deep and wide open valley that rose to the highest peaks at the other end, where they could see the sun shining over their ice-covered tops, reminding Galadriel of Queen Varda, and of Ardamírë up in the sky with the Silmaril on his brow. There were shrubs of holly scattered everywhere around, and they were in bloom. There were several small streams flowing through the valley, and as it ended, they joined into one bigger stream and there were trees strewn along it, gradually widening into a proper forest, though very small compared to the Great one they have just left. And when Galadriel dismounted and walked there, she found the trees open and friendly, and welcoming to the possibility of elves living there. It was decided.

They spent days in that place, in admiration, and then finally Galadriel decided to move south through the forest to see all of it. It was a pleasant place full of light, and it ended where the stream joined a small river. When she arrived to its bank, she was astonished by what she saw on the other side: dwarves.

Of course, they knew most of the Middle-Earth trade nowadays came from the Misty Mountains, but she had not been paying attention to their exact location, entranced by the beauty around her. This must be where Hadhodrond was. But then...that meant Amdír's realm was just across the mountains. The Valar, she thought, truly were merciful to her for once, for this place she found could not have been more perfectly suited to what she had always dreamed of.

"Greetings, sons of Durin," she called to the dwarves across the river.

They looked at her in surprise – clearly not a very pleasant one. "Elves," one of them all but spat. "We travel East to escape them, and they follow us here."

Galadriel was immediately on her guard. Nogrod, she wondered, or Belegost? "I believe," she said carefully, "that Sudri, son of Ai, was living here once. I'd very much like to speak to his descendants."

They looked at each other, surprised by this.

"Sudri was here, aye," one of them finally answered. "I could go and get his scion. Who wants to speak to him?"

Galadriel decided not to mention Doriath this time, in case they truly were from Nogrod, and instead, smiling, she said: "Galadriel, daughter of Finarfin and Earwen."

By their looks, she judged Belegost to be their more likely place of origin, for there, they were more likely to hear about her.

The dwarf who spoke disappeared, and came back an uncomfortable hour later, an hour that was spent by unfriendly looks from the dwarves and studied indifference from the elves.

"I'm Skirvir, son of An, and a descendant of Sudri. I'm told you knew my forefather?"

"We only met once, briefly," Galadriel admitted and heard the displeased murmurs of dwarves who felt deceived, "but I helped him when he was in a difficult situation and he was a very courteous dwarf and helped me, in turn, to keep peace where unpleasantness could have ensued."

Skirvir seemed interested, and so Galadriel briefly described the situation. "Many elves were ruled by fear then, and may still are now," she finished. "The suspicion that arose between our races is one of the tragedies that prevail till this age, and if only for the sake of my cousin Maedhros, many though were his mistakes, I'd wish it abated."

"Yet aren't you from Doriath, from what we've heard? How are we to trust you?"

Galadriel opened her mouth in indignation, but then stopped herself with effort. Something rang false here. "I wasn't present during the battle," she said carefully, "and arrived only later after Lúthien's death. I've heard but distant tales, and nothing that should inspire mistrust of elves. What did your survivors tell you of it?"

"They weren't our survivors exactly," Skirvir said defensively, "they were from Nogrod. And there were no survivors of the battle, that's not what I speak of. The tale we have heard of before, though...Your king let out kinsmen be slaughtered, for he did not want to pay them for their work. Only two escaped, and brought the news back home. That's certainly some reason for distrust!"

Galadriel frowned. "He wasn't my king exactly," she returned distractedly as she considered this. The tale seemed preposterous, and yet, had she not always felt there must have been something Singollo did to awake the enmity of his long-standing allies? Perhaps not all of this was falsehood, and she would offend the dwarves mortally, she knew, if she dismissed it out of hand. She came to a decision then. "That tale differs significantly from the one I know, and as it often is in such cases, I suspect truth will be somewhere in the middle. For the elves say that the king was slain by dwarves who wanted the Silmaril for themselves, and that when they failed to carry it out of the realm, they sent an army to conquer it."

There was outraged shouting among the dwarves, but Galadriel raised her hand. "As I said, I don't necessarily believe that tale indiscriminately." She thought for another moment. "I've seen what evil can desire for the Silmaril do, for have my own kin not sacked Doriath after you, including Maedhros your forefather was friend to? So I wouldn't be too surprised if the dwarves of Nogrod desired to have the Silmaril for themselves. Many did. I'd also be astonished if the king refused to pay them outright – he had too much pride for that. But he was far from being a wise man, and they might have asked for more than originally agreed, or requested to borrow the Silmaril for a time, and he'd have reacted harshly and pridefully, and a battle might have well started from there. So it seems to me that this enmity was started by few from each race who were foolish. Let us, for a change, be wise and not continue it, especially as we don't know what happened exactly, those centuries ago in a lost realm. Blood lies between us, on both sides, but we should start to work on healing, not add to the wounds."

Skirvir mused about it for a time. "What do you want?" He asked at length.

"In time – though not, perhaps, within your lifetime, for it will need preparation – some of our people, with me in the lead, will come to settle not far from here, beyond this forest. We should like to live in peace with the dwarves of Hadhodrond, our closest neighbors."

Skirvir frowned. "Not much I can do about it, is there, if it won't be within my lifetime? But all right, I will tell my sons and the king, and they may do as they wish once you come. You seem...decent in this, elf, and it deserves recognition."

Galadriel thanked him courteously and they departed. For her part, she had much to think about.

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AN: Yes, now we discover Augustin was quoting Galadriel as well. Did all the Christian writers of antiquity do nothing but copy Galadriel's sayings?

On a more serious note, I still think that Elros choosing the fate of Man and leaving his brother behind is one of the most tragic things Tolkien has ever written, all the more because he seemed to have written it sort of by the way. I mean, they were freakin' twins! They went together through the hell of a Stockholm syndrome-like situation with the Feanorioni! And Elros just decides to leave, just like that! There wasn't even a tragic love story to justify it! The idea that when Elrond tells Aragorn that he fears Arwen will find the fate of men hard to bear at the end, he's thinking "my brother did"...it just breaks me.

As for Tom, it was hellish writing him, especially as he can't have his trademark third person speech now – he wasn't Tom yet at this point, and he is hardly going to speak about himself as The Eldest, is he?


	44. Bond

**Chapter 44: Bond**

 _Year 540 of the Second Age, Caras Aear_

The identity of The Eldest became the most discussed topic among Lindon's scholars.

Galadriel had told the tale to Celeborn in detail, naturally, and shown him the strange meeting in her mind, but not even his extensive knowledge of all things to do with forests could answer the burning question. He had never heard of such a being.

A detailed consultation with Lord Ciryatan followed, but it did not tell her much either. "The Avari would probably know something," he ventured. "It might be a good thing to ask them."

Galadriel had some doubts about the Avari being able to answer the kind of questions the Noldor asked, but no other sources of information were at their disposal, it seemed. There were not any Avari to be found in Grey Havens on a permanent basis, but the next time a small group arrived there to trade, they were questioned in detail. It turned out they did know The Eldest, and called him The Fatherless in their language. But as to his identity, they were of no help, and did not seem to quite understand what it was the excited scholars of Lindon were after. "We know him," they said. "He is...him. He helps us sometimes, but does not like to be disturbed too much. He belongs to the Great Forest, and has always been there. What more do you want?" And that was that.

So the debate continued, for years and years, and finally most scholars settled on the easiest explanation, most vociferously defended by Erestor: that The Eldest was a Maia dwelling in Middle-Earth for a long time. It was quite telling, however, that those that unanimously arrived at this conclusion had never met him in their lives – a fact Galadriel liked pointing out to them every time one of them found the courage to try and convince her of their theory. They rarely dared to argue with her, but Elrond, who was their supervisor and so spent much more time with them, reported they were not convinced. "I tend to believe you," he said, "if only because the way I was freed from my despair by his presence seems to be beyond what even a Maia could do, from what you told me...but it is still not easy, when you do not offer an alternative explanation."

"Not all things have a clear explanation," she returned. "How did the Enemy destroy the Trees? What kind of monster it was that helped him? We do not know, and I did not get the impression that the Valar did either at that time, though they may now. Perhaps the answer to the mystery of the Eldest lies in the West as well."

"Shall I tell this to Erestor, or the other scholars?"

"Better not. None of them remember Aman, do they?"

Elrond shook his head. The eldest inhabitants of Lindon were rarely interested in scholarship, for they had personal experience with most of the things loremasters wrote about.

"Then there is no need to remind them of the Darkening of Valinor, and of the monstrous force that caused it. It is not remembered much, and it is better that way."

"Why do you believe so?"

Galadriel thought about how to phrase it. "We understand Moricotto, though that fact alone makes us uncomfortable. But he was one of the Valar, and he turned dark and seduced many to his side. It is not completely dissimilar to the tale of Fëanáro. The monster that brought darkness, though...that is something beyond our comprehension, and merely thinking about it can pull one towards the Void where it crawled from. We who witnessed the Darkening cannot forget it, but there is no need to tell anyone else."

"They know, though – they are loremasters, and it is written in the accounts. You made sure it was."

"I also made sure only the bare facts were written. It is not disturbing to know the Enemy had help. Speaking of that help at length, on the other hand..."

"Are you certain it should not be recorded? Should the knowledge be lost?"

Galadriel looked at him in consideration. "You may record it," she said then. "You only know it from my stories, and so however you decide to phrase it, there is not danger of capturing the true horror."

"Should I look into your mind to see…?"

Galadriel gave him a hard look. "There are but three things I will never show you in my mind, beloved," she said then. "My private moments with Celeborn, the sight of the Enemy through my Uncle's eyes, and the Darkening of Valinor. We did not as much as glimpse the horror, and yet it was enough. Never ask me for this again."

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Fruitless discussions about the Eldest were apparently not the only thing Erestor spent his time with, though. Galadriel began to notice Lord Laurefindil shining with even more inner light than was usual for him a few decades after she returned from her journey East, and some years of this saw her run out of patience with her curiosity. "Is it merely the beauty and bliss of this kingdom that keeps making you so happy?" She asked him one day in good humour.

"Not merely," he replied, his smile broadening. "I have been considering whether to tell you or not for some time now, and since you ask...I believe it is my right to ask for your congratulations, my lady."

"On…?"

"My upcoming marriage."

Now Galadriel's smile grew wide as well, and she laughed. "Truly? That is the best news! To whom?"

"Erestor."

Her smile faltered a little. "Erestor the Head Librarian?" She assured herself.

"Indeed. You do not seem to quite approve, my lady."

She sighed. "I find his company...hard to bear, sometimes, as you know. But that is irrelevant. I assume you felt the Flame?"

"Naturally."

"That that is all there is to be said, is it not? Truly, my congratulations. Sincere ones, whatever my misgivings."

"You do not know Erestor well, do you?" He asked archly, though still with a smile.

"No, and there is some little grief between us." She hesitated. "I do not know if he told you..."

"He did."

"They you understand, I am sure. But it is not I who will be marrying him, so as I said, it hardly matters." In spite of herself, she could not help but ask: "What did the others think?"

"Others, my lady?"

"You know who I mean. Artanáro, Elrond, Sarnel...all those you are close enough to that you surely told them already, instead of waiting for years as in my case!"

She was smiling too, but he still defended himself: "Erestor is a private person," he said. "Until the date is set, he did not wish it widely known. As for the others, the king and Lord Elrond were overjoyed without any reservations, as I am certain you could have imagined. Sarnel was perhaps closer to your opinion, though for different reasons. I think she has trouble believing I could be happy with a scholar."

Galadriel laughed. "It seems I have not explained her my theory of the opposites attracting yet."

"Oh, she knows that. It is only that I think she imagined an opposite in the form of an austere and harsh warrior for me."

The Nolde grew slightly worried. "Do you believe she had hopes for herself…?"

"Oh no! She knows I am of the Select. But...one like her, perhaps? You know we are close. I think she hoped that in my husband, she could gain a new friend." Lord Laurefindil sighed. "You realize, do you not, my lady, that...she gets lonely sometimes?"

Galadriel nodded. "Yes," she admitted, "I do."

"Which reminds me," the lord added, "that Tindómiel knows as well."

Galadriel raised her eyebrows at that. Tindómiel, she knew, had not found it easy to feel at home in Lindon in the last hundred years. Except for Quendingoldo and herself, she was close to very few, which was perhaps why Lord Laurefindil remembered her when they spoke of loneliness.

"Erestor and her husband are close," he said by way of explanation. "We have begun to sometimes spend time all together."

"That is truly excellent news, then." It was – any friends Tindómiel gained, Galadriel was grateful for.

"Enough to assuage your misgivings?" He asked archly.

She laughed. "I told you my opinion did not matter!"

In fact, when she thought about it, the marriage might well help Erestor in letting go of his hatred, and Lord Laurefindil was certainly strong enough not to be swayed by him. And she had an additional reason to be glad it came at this time, beside the general happiness she always felt when true Flame was discovered, unmarred by any complications. She had felt, ever since returning from her journey East, that the time was coming for her to start preparing the project of her kingdom. She knew the place, now, and so everything else could be set into motion. Elros had passed and Tindómiel now lived in Lindon, and with them, her strongest links to Númenórë were gone. Leaving would still hurt, of course – she loved Amandil well, and Elendil's eldest daughter, Silmariën, was very dear to Galadriel because of closeness in spirit. But then, preparations would take time. It might well happen that they would not leave until all of these passed away. There were also those she loved and would have to leave behind in Lindon, of course, but still, her desire to go was beginning to overweight her desire to stay. She had done her duty, she felt, to all of them. They were now well established in their realms and with their spouses, and she was free of everything but bonds of affection. It was time to make her dream come true.

There was no rush, she told herself, but slow and steady preparation for departure could be started. She fad shown the valley to Celeborn in her mind as soon she she came back, with every detail she could conjure, and he had been enchanted. Now, they began to discuss possible names. "It's hard," he said, "naming a kingdom when we don't know what it'll be like, not even who'll live in it."

"We know the place, at least," Galadriel returned. "We could name it after the mountains, or the streams..."

Celeborn considered. "It's ultimately up to you, of course," he said, "but from what you've shown me, I always particularly liked the holly bushes strewn everywhere."

And so the name was settled as Hollin and they began to talk of their dreams and hopes for it, jotting down notes as the idea of the kingdom began to emerge.

There were also practicalities. First, what needed to be decided was how many would come with them. Artanáro told his people that whoever wished to leave with Galadriel was allowed to do so, and many in Lindon were now making up their minds, among the Noldor and the Sindar both.

One of the first to approach her, to her great surprise, was Tyelperinquar. "I have missed," he said, "a properly Noldorin kingdom for a very long time, and I will be glad to accompany you."

"You know Artanáro is the High King now," she replied, not sure how much she liked that reasoning, "and there are many Noldor living in Lindon."

"Artanáro is as Noldorin as can be, I grant you that, and the palace has retained something of that character, though it is less so since his marriage; but most of the people of this realm are Sindar, or their descendants, and it shows in its nature."

"It is quite likely that some Sindar will go with us to Hollin as well," Galadriel pointed out. "They will follow Celeborn, you see."

Tyelperinquar raised his eyebrows. "And Lord Celeborn will be going with you?" He asked.

Galadriel blinked. "Naturally. Why would he not? It is to be our realm, though I will be the Queen."

"I had simply thought he might prefer to remain here with Queen Oreth."

Galadriel narrowed her eyes. "Tyelperinquar," she said, "have you been listening to the gossip?"

"I do not need to listen to the gossip!" He exploded. "I have eyes! I watched them while you were gone! You need to know how he acted! But even when you are here...I see how often they walk together in the garden, and sit in the alcoves, and...how can you ignore it?"

"And do you also see how often I sit with Artanáro and Elrond?" She asked sharply, alarmed and repulsed at hearing these accusations from her own kin. Whatever their disagreements of late, she had not thought Tyelperinquar would sink so low.

"They are your kin!" He cried. "How can you...he treats you this way, publicly, this Sindarin lord, while you are the most powerful and the most beautiful lady of the Noldor, and you deserve to be adored! Anyone who truly valued you would worship the ground you walk on, and he-"

Galadriel's whole expression turned into ice. "I see," she said. "And that anyone would have, perchance, been you?"

"Well hardly, because I came too late! I was born too late! Yes, I would do anything for you, but little good does it do to me now, does it not? But I can at least warn you to make sure you know of his duplicity! You cannot be with me, no, but at least you will not be with one who disrespects you so! You can hardly blame me for being upset when-"

"Oh no, I can blame you and will blame you, in fact," Galadriel said in a voice as hard as steel. "This is unacceptable. Celeborn is my husband, and he has my complete trust. I see his mind and know well that he has no regrets over our marriage, and that Oreth is a close friend to him, not someone he desires. He feels the Flame for me, as I do for him. What you did just now, cousin, is completely unacceptable, and if this is the reason why you wish to go to Hollin, then I suggest you stay in Lindon instead, for you will not be welcome in my kingdom."

And Galadriel turned and walked away, rage rolling in her like a violent storm, barely controlled.

She did not want to say anything to Celeborn, but she was far too upset to hide this from him even though she avoided him until the evening, and when he found out, she saw a matching rage rise in him. "Please, just...don't say a word," she told him. "I don't want to hear one more word about this, one more indication, I don't..." She shook her head, the anger that had barely abated rising to full force again. "I've been protecting him and helping him for years," she said. "Years! And this is how he rewards me. I'm glad his mother didn't stay in Middle-Earth long enough to see it." Midhel, she knew, would see a reflection of Curufinwë in this behaviour, in this attempt to take in some way the one whom he desired, with no regard for her feelings or wishes.

It would not, of course, have been an entirely fair comparison. What Tyelperinquar did was worlds removed from Curufinwë – though a small voice in Galadriel's head said, yes, and do you know that it is not only because he can no longer do that, because you are already married, and more powerful than him besides? She pushed the thought away. No, she would not believe such a thing of her cousin, but still...she was revolted by what he did, by his attempt to break her marriage and gain a kind of attention from her to which he had no right, and which she had no wish to give. It broke every rule of decency.

Galadriel stayed furious for days.

Celeborn told Oreth the parts that were relevant to her, which in turn naturally led to Artanáro finding out, an event that resulted in the king waiting at the door to Galadriel's chambers early one morning.

"Does your cousin think," he began without preamble as soon as he entered, "that he can insult the queen of this realm without any consequences?"

"He is your cousin too," she pointed out, more sharply than she had intended. She was still furious.

"I do not much feel like it at the moment," he replied, his voice hard.

Galadriel found his rage a little hypocritical. Perhaps it was only her own anger speaking, but she felt he had no right to it, given he only knew part of the issue. "I do understand that," she said, trying to keep her temper, "but you knew the gossip existed. Why be so upset now?"

"Because Tyelperinquar is a member of my council!" He exploded. "I might have even called him a friend! And do not pretend you are not angry for Celeborn, I can see your mind. In fact, the source of your fury has puzzled me for the last two days, until Oreth told me last night."

"I am angry," Galadriel admitted plainly, "but then I know something you do not. Given your reaction to this, I am not certain I should tell you."

He gave her a sharp look, and she sighed. "No, I am not being serious, of course. Sit down, you will need it."

In fact, Artanáro seemed mostly astonished when he heard. "But...you are friends, or were, at least."

"Apparently, my cousin believes we are something else entirely, or should be, at any rate."

He shook his head. "This is...I did not expect this of him."

"Neither did I. Especially as…we have not been on entirely friendly terms for decades now. Why he thought his confession would awake any pity in me at this particular time, I do not know. Or perhaps he thought that if he blackened Celeborn enough, I would be more sympathetic to him?"

"Do not ask me, for it is entirely beyond my comprehension. You know him better than I do, anyway." He said it like an accusation.

"That is what I thought, but it seems..." She trailed off, and they both stayed silent for a moment, standing by the window and looking towards the West, attempting to calm their anger.

"Will you shun him, then?" Artanáro asked at length.

"Yes. I will not speak to him again unless he offers a sincere and profound apology. I am sorry for the way this will inevitably affect your councils."

He shook his head. "No, no, I understand."

"I also told him that as it is, he is not welcome in Hollin."

Artanáro looked at her with raised eyebrows. "He wanted to go?"

"It surprised me as well, but now I know why, of course." She grimaced. "At least I have one additional motivation for leaving – I will get away from him."

"Have you lacked motivation until now?"

She sighed. "It is...complicated. I long to go, and yet I detest the idea of leaving you and others behind...there are many I love here, and not all of them will accompany me. I will tarry, I know, when the time comes for me to depart."

He pressed her hand and gave her a brief smile. "Well, I am happy with you tarrying, of course, but know that you have my full support in your endeavour. I am less happy with the thought of you leaving Tyelperinquar here, but I suppose if Oreth can bear him, it is none of my business. I do not intend to cast him out or anything of the sort, but I will have to consider his place in the council."

"I cannot advise you in that. I am too angry at the moment."

She was, and continued to be so, and as days passed, she realized she needed to talk to someone more removed from the case that either Celeborn or Artanáro to calm herself. And so Galadriel went in search of Ambë.

It did not take her friend much time, as they were going through attempts at small talk, to notice she was upset. "Whatever is the matter?" She asked.

Galadriel sighed, and as briefly and calmly as she could, retold the tale of Tyelperinquar and his shocking remarks.

Ambë was saddened by the story. "Unrequited love is deserving of pity, under normal circumstances," she said, "but this, this is terrible. Has he no regard for...well, for anything?"

"I don't know. I feel like I don't know him at all! For years I took him under my wing, guided him...have I been blind to this selfish tendency the whole time?"

"Has he ever shown it in Nargothrond?"

"No, never! Truth be told, I used to be impressed by his relative selflessness. I mean, he tended to be a little too proud, to pretend he was more of an adult and stronger than he was, but apart from that...I used to admire his devoted love for Midhel, in spite of his father trying to poison him against her." Se shook her head. "But it all changed when she sailed."

Ambë considered this. "Well, she was his guiding light when he was a child," she said slowly. "It might have hit him hard..."

"Don't tell me you blame her as well!"

"No! He was an adult when she left. She wasn't responsible for him. But perhaps...perhaps I can see how that made him detest any semblance of weakness even more?"

"And is trying to break up a marriage a sign of strength?"

Ambë shook her head. "No," she agreed, "it isn't. What did you tell him?"

"That his behaviour was unacceptable and that under these circumstances, I didn't wish for him to go to Hollin with us. In fact, I don't indent to speak to him again unless he apologizes."

Ambë gave a small sigh. "My friend," she said, "are you certain that you wish to end your contact with him in this way?"

Galadriel frowned at her. "Did you hear what I just said?"

"Yes, he did you a terrible wrong. But...well, as ever, I'm thinking of Fingon, you know?"

Like always, Galadriel felt a stab of pain at that name. "Yes?"

"I, too, thought that what he did was unforgivable, and was very unwilling to do anything to facilitate reconciliation. If he wanted it, I thought, he should come to me on his knees. The mistake was his, after all." She paused. "And then he died," she said simply. "And I think I might never stop regretting it, or not until I meet with him again in Aman, at least. I'd wish to spare you that."

Galadriel considered this. Speaking to Tyelperinquar was the last thing she wanted to do at the moment, and yet...the thought that he would die – improbable as it was in these peaceful times – and she would still be on bad terms with him was...hard to bear.

"I'll consider it. Does that satisfy you?"

"It's not my satisfaction that matters here, my friend. It's yours."

Galadriel only nodded in response.

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In the midst of her planning for Hollin, she had to make time for another grand event. Her plans to leave, along with Lord Laurefindil and Erestor preparing their wedding, was what Lord Ciryatan needed to finally make up his mind about Arminas, and so a great celebration of their union took place in Grey Havens, hosting all the important lords and ladies from the realm.

Given the ages of both grooms, well into thousands of years, they chose to have the ceremony in the style Galadriel and Celeborn had and there was no one in place of parent when the exchanged their vows. Galadriel watched, smiling, and pressed Celeborn's hand tightly, remembering her own wedding very clearly. _Lord Ciryatan even looks a little like Celeborn_ , she thought, _even though Arminas looks nothing like me_. "It gives hope, doesn't it," she said aloud, "that love can be found, even after so many years?"

"It does," he admitted. "You know the kind of doubts I had, but seeing Lord Círdan with Arminas, I can't question the...realness of this."

"I'm very happy to hear you say that, truly."

"It hurts to know that the king I was loyal to for so many years was wrong, in so many way."

Galadriel shook her head. "As much as it pains me to say so, I blame Lady Melian more in this. She knew he was wrong. She could have made it evident to him, she could have done something. But she simply...let it be."

"Well, you know what my grandmother used to say about that."

"Yes, and though I always saw it, I'm only now fully beginning to realize the...well, the evil it did in your kingdom."

Celeborn shrugged. "Without her, there'd have been no kingdom in the first place. We couldn't have lasted there, unprotected."

"No," Galadriel agreed, "but still...it was a good thing Doriath had your grandmother as well. A very good thing."

"Yes," he agreed with a sigh, and she pressed his hand again.

They went to congratulate Lord Ciryatan and Arminas at the earliest possible opportunity, and were thanked with warm smiles of deep contentment and, in Arminas' case, a trace of relief. "Were you perhaps beginning to worry that Lord Círdan would change his mind?" Galadriel asked him with a smile.

Arminas returned it. "Not precisely change his mind," he said, "but...well, he's much older than I am, as you know, my lady. Time is almost irrelevant to him."

"And what made you act, Lord Círdan?" Galadriel asked, turning to him. "Did you fear Arminas would go with us to Hollin otherwise?"

"Something like that," the Sindarin lord admitted. "Your upcoming departure finally roused me, made me realize that though I hardly pay any attention to it, time does pass and changes do happen, and that I shouldn't forget it."

"And praise the One for these changes," Celeborn said mildly, "otherwise this wedding couldn't have taken place."

Lord Ciryatan gave him a penetrating look. "You never spoke to me about this," he said slowly.

"No," Celeborn replied evenly. "I used to live in even stronger prejudice than you did, as you know, and I didn't wish to risk hurting you with some unfortunate comment until the matter was fully sorted in my mind."

Lord Ciryatan frowned a little. "You should have known I, of all, would understand."

"Understand, yes – but that doesn't mean my words couldn't be hurtful."

The Lord of Grey Havens slowly inclined his head. "That's true, I suppose. And it is fully sorted now?"

"Yes," Celeborn said plainly. "Seeing you, my lord...well, how could it not be?"

Galadriel looked at them for a moment and nodded at Arminas. "Would you dance with me?" She asked.

He smiled and assented, and they headed to the dance floor. "It's an honour, my lady," he said.

"Oh no, it is the other way round – it is an honour to dance with the newly-weds! Even though every time I do so with your husband, I have to fight the intimidation I feel."

"Truly?" Arminas smiled. "Even on the day you see him marry one of your brother's sworn servants?"

"More so than ever before," she replied. "I have never had to discard my deeply ingrained beliefs the way he had, but I have had some glimpse of what it is like from Celeborn and I admire him deeply for his ability to do so. It is very brave to admit to a mistake so publicly."

Arminas grew serious. "It has not been easy, no," he admitted. "I do not wish to divulge too many personal things about him, but...I have been with him most of the way, and I saw the struggle up close, and...there were even times I wondered if I should not have gone West, if it would not have made it all easier."

"I am glad you did not. There are not many things that could give me so much joy as this wedding does."

When their dance ended, Celeborn and Lord Ciryatan were still talking, so Galadriel left Arminas to some of his friends and went in search of other company.

She found Tindómiel sitting quietly as her husband conversed with some other scholars, and sat down next to her. "Are you remembering your won wedding?" She asked.

The Noldorin princess thought about it. "The feeling of this one is very different. This is a dream of many centuries coming true. My own wedding was...well. I had never felt any interest in marriage at all as a girl, and as I told you, I truly expected to live out my days at my leisure, exploring the island and perhaps Middle-Earth one day as well, and advising Amandil in his rule. Marriage seemed like it could interfere with that, so I was not interested. Beside a case or two in my early youth, I never fell in love either." She shook her head. "Quendingoldo took me entirely by surprise, and not only because he was an elf."

There was a short silence, then Galadriel found the courage to ask the question she had been hesitating about for the last hundred years. "Are you...happy with your choice?"

"You mean, do I regret it? Sometimes, yes, I will not lie. Sometimes I feel tired, and I miss my parents and siblings painfully." She shook her head. "It is a terrible thing to watch all of your siblings die...but then, you would know," she added bluntly, and Galadriel felt a stab of pain, not only for her brothers but for the more recently departed as well. She missed Elros painfully.

"It is perhaps more terrible still knowing that my nephews and nieces will follow not long after," Tindómiel continued. "That is why I go to Númenórë only so rarely now, and why I talk to anyone beside them and their children even more rarely. I do not wish to form new bonds there. It hurts too much." She took a deep breath. "Amandil is planning to pass the Sceptre to Elendil soon, did you know?"

Galadriel did know, and said so. It made her think of Elros again, with that familiar pain, and wonder what would he have thought of this great-grandson of his as the heir. He took after Vardamir, being even more of a scholar and equally close to Elrond.

"How can you bear spending time with them all?" Tindómiel asked. "How can you bear getting close, when you know-"

"But I cannot. It pains me, too. Less than you, because at least they are not my close kin...but it pains me. You know I mostly limit myself to Elendil these days, since he is the heir and can, I think, benefit from my advice."

"And his eldest daughter. I have noticed that much."

"True. Silmariën is...a kindred spirit, to me, always has been. I do not remember feeling this sort of closeness to a child since Artanáro was born. She is very young, of course, but still. I can see it in her. Have you known this feeling, with a child?"

Tindómiel grimaced. "No," she said. "You know I try to avoid children as much as possible. Another reason why I never sought marriage."

Galadriel smiled at that, even though she knew it was not entirely true. Tindómiel was much like her, in this: she had no desire for her own children, but with some other children, she could be close. "But are are happy in it, nevertheless?" She insisted.

"Yes...in spite of my occasional regrets, I am, overly, happy."

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AN: I think this requires a bit of Tolkien-ey theology of marriage to fully get the impact of why what Celebrimbor did was so wrong, but it would be pretty scumbaggy even without it, so I guess it works.


	45. Decisions

AN: Chapters to make up for the missing updates: 2/3.

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 **Chapter 45: Decisions**

 _Year 635 of the Second Age, Caras Aear_

"You said you'd think about my advice," Ambë observed as the king's council ended and its members slowly began to file out of the room, "but it seems you haven't taken it to heart. Almost a century has passed, and you still aren't speaking to Celebrimbor, are you?"

"No," Galadriel admitted, "not outside of council, when not strictly necessary."

"Are you still so angry?"

Galadriel shook his head. "I am angry, a little, yes, but...what you said is true," she admitted, "however, there's also a difference between our cases. Given the nature of my...disagreement with him, I simply can't be the first to go to him. Surely you see that?"

Ambë considered. "I do," she agreed. "But there must be a way..."

"If you know of one, then please, do let me know. I've been trying to solve this riddle for some years now." She wanted to continue, but noticed Gildor was hesitating by the door, apparently waiting for one of them, and so she nodded at Ambë with an implied promise to speak later and departed.

Gildor went with her, and on the way, said: "My lady, I simply wanted...well, to apologize."

"For what?"

"For...not intending to go with you to Hollin."

She gave him a surprised look. "Why should you apologize for that? Artanáro is your king. I never expected you to go."

"Yes, but...well. It was you who saved us from Narogrotto. I feel as if I owe you loyalty as well. Until now, there was no conflict, but..."

She sighed. "Gildor, I would never blame you for staying. If you ever choose to come and visit, I will be happy to see you, but do not feel obligated. Besides, someone who remembers the old days should stay on the council."

He seemed taken aback by this remark. "Lord Laurefindil will stay, will he not?"

"Almost certainly, yes. But...well. He remembers Aman as well as I do, of course, but he spent most of the First Age in Ondolindë. That experience is very different from what the rest of the Noldor lived through. Of course, Artanáro was there already for most of the biggest events, but still. In you, as in me, there is an uninterrupted memory of us fighting the long defeat in the First Age, and I do believe it is important."

Gildor smiled. "Thank you, my lady. I sometimes feel...well, a little superfluous in the council, and I am happy to hear you find me so crucial."

She raised her eyebrows at him. "There are only eight people on the king's council," she said. "Had I thought you unnecessary, I would never have suggested you. Stay here, and take care of Lindon for me."

Gildor laughed. "As my lady commands."

It had been, Galadriel mused, relatively common in the past decades for people to stop her to express their plans regarding Hollin, though more often it was to tell her they _would_ go with her. It had started with individuals – fortunately, others who wished to go had less problematic reasons than Tyelperinquar – but soon enough, whole groups began to pledge themselves too. The first was represented by Brannor's eldest daughter, and after bowing respectfully, she had said: "We will, of course, go with you, my lady."

"We?"

"All of us that are left from your healing apprentices from Hithlum and their families."

"All?" Galadriel asked sharply.

Aseanettë blushed. "Well...not Erestor, no," she admitted. "A few others will stay with him, but...most of us will go. Our loyalty has been to you for a long time now, and we will gladly follow you to your new kingdom."

Galadriel smiled at her as she considered, not for the first time, how much people with similar experiences could differ. Aseanettë never blamed her for Brannor's death, nor did either of her sisters. But it was true that they did not fight in the Kinslaying, and they did not see Brannor die with their own eyes. "Good thing, then," she said, "that I taught Elrond all I knew about healing."

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Galadriel handed Maewel her newborn daughter, now all washed and wrapped in blankets, and the princess gave her a tired smile in return. Oreth, the only other person in the room, leaned over to see her grandchild better, and Galadriel rose to give them space. Even after all her years of living among the Sindar, it was still strange to her how private they liked to keep the birth. Among the Noldor, at least Sarnel and Oreth's grandmother and great-grandmother would have been present as well, if not her husband's female relations. And from what she remembered from the Vanyar births in Aman, the entire female household always shared in the joy of new life. But the Sindar mostly liked the delivery itself to be small, and so Galadriel would respect that.

"No, Lady Galadriel, wait," the Queen said as she was leaving, however, and the Nolde stopped, surprised.

"I will go with you for a while, and let the new father take joy in his child," Oreth added, and they exited the room, nodding for Nemiron to enter.

Galadriel assumed there was a reason behind the Queen accompanying her, so she waited, knowing by now that was the best way to approach talks with Artanáro's wife.

"I...Celeborn told me what Celebrimbor accused us of," Oreth said at length, after they walked together almost all the way to the gardens.

Galadriel nodded stiffly. "I'm aware." Would Oreth attempt to apologize, after all this time, she wondered? She hoped not.

"I've also heard a remark from Amonel," the Queen continued, providing an explanation for why she was mentioning it now, "along the lines of you hoping for him to come and apologise. I wished to consult..." She hesitated. "Do you believe an apology should be demanded?"

Galadriel gave her a surprised look. "Surely that's up to you?"

Oreth gave a very small sigh. "Rodnor insists. He says that he can't bear Celebrimbor being around without ever apologizing, and yet doesn't wish to expel him from the council, so he thinks simply demanding an apology is the best solution."

"Well, it's a solution Rodnor would prefer, I can see that. It's one that suits his nature."

The Queen gave her a half-surprised, half-amused look. "Do you know that's much the same thing that I told him? I dislike confrontations and don't want to do any such thing, but, well, I don't wish to ignore his discomfort either. I considered asking Celeborn to demand an apology instead of me, but I think he refrains out of respect for your wishes. So I hoped to know your opinion. Do you believe either of us should ask for an apology?"

Galadriel considered. There was no way to answer this without sharing some more. "What exactly did Celeborn and Rodnor tell you?" She asked.

Oreth grimaced a little at having to repeat it. "That Celebrimbor believed that there's...desire between us, and that he found it appropriate to discuss with you."

Galadriel nodded. She knew this, but had wondered whether they had not shared more lately. "It was worse," she said. "There's a reason Celebrimbor believes these rumours...because it suits his own desires."

It took Oreth only a moment to understand. "I see," she said then, her expression becoming even more impenetrable than usual. "And did you demand an apology?"

"Not outright," Galadriel said slowly, "I simply made my anger obvious. I believe it should be understood without me having to say it."

Oreth inclined her head in agreement. "Yet no apology was forthcoming, not even to you?"

"No. And Amonel is right, I do wish to reconcile before I leave for Hollin, yet I simply can't be the first to come to him, not without risking that he'll misinterpret it. So while I don't think there's an obligation for you in demanding an apology, I do think that perhaps if you did so, it could prompt Celebrimbor into action, since he does seem a little contrite. But I'm hardly going to ask you to do something against your own comfort to increase my own."

Oreth frowned. "You're right that I'd feel uncomfortable, and especially after what you've told me. I feel that by rights, he should apologise to you first. Towards you, it was a direct offence." She fell silent and they walked on, through the garden to the edges of the cliffs.

"I think," she said musingly when they were overlooking the sea, "that Celebrimbor simply needs the right opportunity. A good thing one celebration of a Princess' birth is coming up."

Galadriel gave her a surprised look. "Let's go find Rodnor," the Queen suggested instead of a response, and turned back towards the palace in her usual, calmly dignified manner.

Galadriel followed, rather bewildered, and then waited while Oreth explained the situation to her husband. "We'll simply find Celebrimbor at the celebration and stage a conversation not too far from him," she finished. "It shouldn't be too complicated."

Artanáro started to reply, then noticed Galadriel's expression and said with a smile: "You didn't underestimate my wife, did you?"

"No," Galadriel replied, completely honestly, "but I didn't expect you to take such an active interest, my lady."

"Well," Oreth noted, "it solves my problem as well, or rather Rodnor's problem, which he kept asking me to solve. But I'll need your advice on what would work best as this prompting."

That, Galadriel thought, should not be too complicated. _We Noldor are very straightforward, when it comes down to it_. "If what I hope is true, letting him know the apology will be accepted should be enough. If it is not, then it does not matter."

Artanáro gave her a look. "You could have asked me to tell him that years ago," he said.

Before Galadriel could reply, Oreth gave her husband a pitying look. "That," she said, "would be little different from going to him herself, my love."

And so it happened that, two days later, Galadriel was standing in the feast hall having a conversation with Ambë when Tyelperinquar approached her. "My lady," he said, and nervousness was evident in his voice. "May I speak to you?"

Galadriel turned her cold eyes to him. "About?"

"I...I came to offer my sincerest apology and contrition."

A hint of warmth appeared in her tone. "Very well then," she said. "You may."

"Perhaps...somewhere more private?"

She nodded curtly, even though the idea of privacy with him at the moment was completely undesirable, and they left the feast hall and walked a little way, entering one of the many terraces.

"Well?" She said.

Tyelperinquar fell to his knees. "I have no adequate words to offer," he said, "so I can only resort to gestures. I-"

"Get up," Galadriel interrupted him with a grimace. "Not that contrition is misplaced, but I will not listen to it as you kneel."

He reluctantly rose. "As I said, there is nothing I can say to justify myself. You were right, and as soon as my anger cooled-"

"Your anger?" Galadriel's voice rose.

He flinched. "I know it was misplaced, my lady, but it...existed, and it took me some years to get over it enough to realize that I made an enormous mistake. At first, it was only the realization that as you were already married to Lord Celeborn, it was wrong to say anything along the lines of what I did, since I could not change the fact of your marriage, and so I had no right to try and spoil your happiness. Soon after that realization came others, though. The knowledge that your sharp mind would hardly miss something so substantial, as well as awareness that my personal feelings, whatever they were, were my problem, and I had no right to burden them with you."

Galadriel shook her head. "That is not necessarily true," she said. "We were friends, once at least, and as such I would have wished to know – to avoid hurting you by discussing some things, for example. If, that is, you presented the matter as a fact you wished me to know of, and not as a demand for my attention."

He lowered his head. "You are more generous than I deserve. Let me simply repeat that I am deeply, profoundly sorry for what I said. I thought about things a lot, and I also realized you were probably right about my mother."

"No, Tyelperinquar – she was right about herself. I only came to realize it sooner than you did."

"Of course. I just...there are so many things I have been wrong about while you were right." He shook his head. "It is just...such a strange experience." He laughed a weird little laugh. "I am used to being right, you know? In the forge, I mean. I am very good at craft, I would not hesitate to say that I am without a peer there...and it just made me assume that I will be right in other matters too, while in reality, it seems it is the one thing I understand, the only one thing." He smiled bitterly. "My father taught me that. It appears I listened to him more, in this and in other things, than I ever did to my mother's lessons."

"You have some reason to be hard on yourself, Tyelperinquar, but do not go too far. Do not start thinking you are like your father. You are worlds removed from him. For one, he never admitted his mistakes."

"It took me long enough!" He cried. "No, I think it will be good if I keep to the forge and all that is related to it and do not try to pretend I ever understood anything else. I would not, after all, take kindly to you walking into my workroom and telling me how to craft. I do not know why I ever thought I knew anything about these matters, really, when I spend most of my life in the forge. That does not give itself to knowing people well. My fellow smiths, those I understand, but that is all, and I will keep to them and out matters from now on."

"As you will. For a time, it is probably a good approach, anyway." _Until_ _t_ _his rather extraordinary mood cools_ , Galadriel thought to herself. In the long term it would certainly be better to try and actually learn to understand people more, but she did not think that should be suggested at the moment. Tyelperinquar had enough to work through.

She hesitated. "You truly came to see all of this during the last century, while before, for so long…?"

He seemed to blush a little. "Amonel might have provided some guidance in this. After I came to my senses initially, she sought me out."

Galadriel smiled. She would have to thank her friend. "Very well, then. I can see in your mind that your contrition is sincere, so I do, of course, forgive you."

He pressed her hands in gratefulness, seemingly too overcome for words for a moment. Then, however, he opened his mouth and closed it again.

"What is it?"

"Well, I only...wished to know if your forgiveness went far enough that you would allow me to go to Hollin with you."

"Tyelperinquar...is it wise? Given your feelings..."

He smiled a little sadly. "That, I believe, is the one good thing that came of this. I have seen through my infatuation. It was mostly an admiration of strength, to be truthful, rather than any true attachment to you as a person."

"I am well aware of that. The implied comparison to your mother made it all the more insulting."

He nodded. "I cringe when I think about it," he said. "If there is anything I can do, anything at all, to make this all up to you and Lord Celeborn, just tell me, please. Anything in my power – only, as I have said, I truly believe the one thing where I can be of use if craftsmanship. If I can do something for you there, I will."

Galadriel nodded. "I will think about it," she said.

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It was Celeborn who told her about the plans of those from Doriath. "Most will come with us to Hollin, it seems," he said. "If Elrond was king, they'd perhaps have stayed, for they feel loyal to him still, but he isn't, and so it seems they'll choose to follow me, as the last remnants of the royal family."

"You're not counting Oropher, then, I take it?"

"Nobody's counting Oropher." But then he grew serious. "You should know, however," he said, "that many of those – especially the older generation, those who truly lived in Doriath – will follow us for...less pleasing reasons, or at least it plays a part in their decision."

"What does that mean?"

"They resent the good position of the Select at court in Lindon, and so wish to leave."

Galadriel stared. "In spite of their willingness to go, Hollin is still likely to end up a mostly Noldorin kingdom! How can they think it'll be better there, than in the predominately Sindarin Lindon?"

Celeborn sighed and sat down heavily in one of the ornamental chairs in their chambers. "Well, most of the Sindar here were born in this new kingdom already. They do not...ah...share the old values, as some would say. They grew up under the Noldorin influence. So they aren't of much use in this. And while Hollin might be very Noldorin...it won't, as far as we know, have two open Select on the royal council, and another one being effectively a ruler of his own independent subdivision." He shook his head. "The two weddings clinched their dislike, I fear. One Doriath couple actually sailed after Glorfindel's and because of it-"

"Are they in for a surprise," Galadriel muttered.

"-and I know several of Círdan's people moved out of Grey Havens after his wedding. They consider him unfit to rule."

Galadriel's eyes widened. "I had no idea...this is terrible."

"Yes. I just thought you should know that this is why some will be following us."

She almost groaned as she sat down opposite to him. "I can't forbid them, I suppose," she said, "not if I want for people to follow me at all...but I sincerely wish that whoever ends up being on our council, as many of them as possible are Select."

She even considered choosing such advisers intentionally, and had to remind herself that wisdom should be the defining characteristic. Still, at least one or two...that elf who was distant kin to Gwindor, what was her name, Feliel? She was reliable and capable, and she used to court a lady at one time if Galadriel remembered correctly, even though nothing came of it...and it seemed like there was a chance she would go with them to Hollin.

Indeed, the picture of those who would go was slowly becoming clearer. Apart from the Doriath Sindar, there would be both those who knew her from Hithlum and who left Narogrotto with her. She knew most of these people and it warmed her heart to know that, after all, she has gained some loyalty among them.

There were even a few elves originally from Ondolindë who decided to go with her, though mainly, she sensed, because building a new realm presented a great chance for their craft and because the proximity to Hadhodrond would open new opportunities. Most, however, would stay with Elrond, the grandson of their beloved princess, and their much-loved Lord Laurefindil, both of whom Galadriel would sorely miss. Tindómiel came to her to tell her they would go, though.

"Are you sure?" Galadriel asked her hesitatingly.

"Yes," the lady in question replied. "I do not feel strong ties to this kingdom, not even after the two centuries I spent here, and I cannot...being so close to Númenórë is slowly becoming torture. I try not to go there too often, as you know, but love still binds me to Elendil and his siblings and cousins...and when I am there, it is so hard not to feel bonds to their children as well, and yet I cannot bear it...I have to leave."

Galadriel frowned a little. "It will still be at least a few decades until we go," she said. "We have to finalize the plans and preparations, complete the maps, the architects are not done with their city project yet...if you feel the need to leave now-"

"Oh no, it is not quite as urgent as that. In fact, I would not mind if we waited until Eldenil's life, and that of others of his generation, nears its end. Like I said, I am bound to them by love. But...not any longer than that. Please."

Galadriel nodded, and there was a short silence. "Will you mind?" Tindómiel asked then. "Leaving Númenórë behind, I mean? I know Uncle Elrond could never do it."

"No, he could not. As for me...I will miss Silmariën, as you know. But she is the only one left there I am truly close to. Elendil sees me as an advisor, not as a friend. My brother's ring is becoming a mere symbol. I will miss those from Lindon much more bitterly."

"Perhaps Elendil saw you as more of a friend before the conflict between you."

Galadriel had insisted Elendil made his eldest daughter his heir. He had refused, rather categorically. She shook her head now. "No – he never saw me as a friend, as that was why there was conflict in the first place. He did not trust my advice."

"Well, he would have been breaking with custom," Tindómiel tried to defend him. "The people might have been angry if he was seen to do so under elven influence."

"As if it was elven custom to have female rulers. It was the Second born who had Haleth as their leader, and Silmariën would be a better queen than Meneldur, you know that." It was Silmariën who inherited the gift to rule from Amandil. It seemed to always skip a generation.

"I do," Tindómiel agreed, "but then, Meneldur is much like Elendil, so perhaps it is understandable that he wishes him to rule." She shook her head. "See? I am doing it again, getting wrapped up in the affairs of my old home. I have to go."

Galadriel nodded. "Will Quendingoldo not mind leaving Erestor behind?"

"He is sorry for that," Tindómiel admitted, "but some of his good friends from Ondolindë will be coming with us at least, so he will have some consolation. And he understands my reasoning." Tindómiel tried to smile. "Besides," she said, "so many new lands to explore!"

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Much like Gildor, Elrond felt the need to apologise for not going to Hollin, something Galadriel never expected in the first place. It was then that the topic of Silmariën came up again. "I would go with you," he said, "but you know I cannot leave my brother's family. I gave my word."

Galadriel only inclined her head, having always known that, and considered the contrast to Tindómiel's approach. The Nolde rather thought it might be healthier for Elrond not to go to Númenórë so often either, since it always made him miss his brother more acutely and made him melancholic for weeks, but it was true that she had not been truly worried about him since meeting The Eldest, not even Vardamir's death sending him spiralling back, something she had been truly afraid of. It was also true he genuinely loved his brother's descendants, Elendil being like his son, and that he gave his word. And so, instead of expressing her opinion, she embraced him. "We could not all leave Artanáro at the same time," she said. "One of us would always have to stay. He needs his advisers."

"I doubt I could ever fill that role after you."

"I think you will do fine. Have you not done this for the kings of Númenórë for centuries?"

He opened his mouth to say something, then paused. "Is this about Silmariën?"

Galadriel exhaled, suddenly feeling tired. "No, it is not. I genuinely wished to assuage your fears."

"I am sorry that I did not back you, truly," he continued as if he had not heard her. "I simply feel that I should not take part of one of my family members against another."

"Elrond, I know. We have discussed this a thousand times."

"You still disagree, though." It seemed he found the idea of that troubling.

"Yes, for I believe that sometimes you need to choose sides, but it is in the past now. Elendil made his choice. It was not my intention to bring it up again."

"Forgive me. It is only that I feel guilty."

"But you do not regret it, do you?"

"...No." The one word appeared to give him great pain.

Galadriel smiled to try and encourage him. "Well then. No need for guilt."

She was not entirely certain he believed her.

Elrond staying meant, naturally, that Lord Laurefindil stayed as well. There was no need to discuss the issue, and so they did not, instead enjoying the last years in company with each other. "You are the last one here that I actually knew in Aman, Lord Laurefindil," she told him. "There will be some from the West coming with me, but none I met there. It is...strange, to think of that."

"I know what you mean, my lady," he agreed. "I would miss your company if only for this reason, and there are many others."

"Well, you have Erestor to keep you occupied now."

He laughed. "Yes, and he is a handful! But as much as I adore my husband-"

"Would he not hate to hear you declare so this publicly?"

"That is why I am doing it. As I was saying, as much as I adore him, he is...well, so young, which sounds like a terrible thing to say, and of course he has lived through a lot, but...he does not remember. Not the way we do."

"It must be strange," Galadriel mused. "Celeborn has different memories from me, of course, but...they are equally long. Erestor is barely older than Elrond!"

"Over a century older."

"As I said...barely."

They both laughed.

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All of these prolonged goodbyes were bitter-sweet, but there was one departure in particular that made Galadriel think Artanáro would regret his blanket permission for all to leave for Hollin. Sarnel appeared in Galadriel's chambers one day and said: "I wish to go with you, Aunt."

"Sarnel...sit down." Galadriel gestured to a chair, taking the other one. "Are you certain? You father would miss you sorely."

"I know," she admitted, sitting very straight and tense, "but I truly feel like I have no future here. There is nothing to do for me, and in spite of my father's assurances, I know I am seen by many as...well, as odd."

"Only by some," Galadriel corrected, though she realized that as that included her own mother, sister and brother-in-law, it was felt very strongly. "You are an anomaly, so to speak, much like your grandmother."

Sarnel gave a small sigh. "That is what Father often says. It is a source of trouble to him, I believe."

Galadriel shrugged languidly. "Well, you know how your grandmother died. She was a hero, but it is still the truth that had she not been a fighter, she would have stayed alive. Your father would never ban you from doing what you love, but under the circumstances, it is quite natural that he worries. He remembers her, and every time he sees you sparring with Lord Laurefindil, I think he is seeing her in the yards in his mind's eyes. Try to understand him, but do not concern yourself with it overmuch."

"May I go with you, then?" Sarnel asked, still tense.

Galadriel was surprised by the question. People normally did not ask, they announced they would go. "You are an adult, and I would never reject you. On the contrary, I would be happy to have you, and can in fact imagine a key function or two for you in my council. But I would very much like it if you discussed it with your father. You do not need to ask his leave, for he gave a permission for all and you are an adult, but it would be good if you explained your reasons."

"Thank you, Aunt. I promise I shall."

And she clearly did, because only a few days later, Artanáro searched Galadriel out with a grave expression in his face.

"Sarnel spoke to you," she said immediately. She could see it in his mind.

"Yes. I will not stop her, and I will not ask you to, but Aunt...it hurts."

She came to embrace him, and after a moment, she asked: "Why? She does not wish to leave out of any malice towards you."

"I still feel like I have failed her as a father."

Galadriel pulled back and took his hands. "Remember," she said, "I have left my parents, too, and it was not because of any failure on their part."

"Yet you always told me they did not understand you."

"They did not, but that was not the reason I left. Perhaps if they did, the need would have been felt a little less sharply, but perhaps not. I had my uncle and cousins, after all, and it did not stop the desire. Lindon is to Sarnel what Aman was to me, it seems: she feels she cannot truly become what she wants to be here. I believe I can give her that opportunity."

Artanáro sighed. "I will miss her terribly, just as I will miss you," he said. "Will you take care of her for me, please?"

"With all my power."

He smiled sadly. "Well," he said, "that certainly should be some consolation, should it not?"

Galadriel did not reply. She thought of all those she could not protect, could not save, despite her best attempts, and like always, asked herself if she could not have done more. Hithlum, Narogrotto, Doriath, New Havens...so many fallen realms, so many dead in them, and so much guilt for her to carry.


	46. Queens

AN: I'm so sorry! I uploaded the new chapter to FF net Friday morning and forgot to post it...oh well. You'll get two chapters in quick succession then.

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 **Chapter 46: Queens**

 _Year 740 of the Second Age, Armenelos_

Presentations of the Sceptre of Númenórë were always grand and beautiful affairs, but for Galadriel, this one was tinged with resentment.

At least, she thought, I had never been the eldest daughter.

No, even had she been a nér, she would not have been king, for her brothers and cousins came before her, being all older. But Silmariën...that was a different case.

She wondered whether her own involvement in this cause had made the situation better or worse. Apart from ensuring Elendil gave his daughter a lordship, it led to another thing as well: he gave her Ingoldo's ring.

"You are so close to Lady Galadriel," he had reportedly told his daughter, "I feel this ring, the sign of our friendship with her house, should pass to you."

On surface, it was kind enough. And yet...it also meant the ruling line of Númenórë was now giving up the token of the connection between their houses, the connection forged by her love for Elros, and his for her. Elendil, it was plain, had not taken to her forceful advice about Silmariën kindly and considered it improper interference. This was his way to communicate that. We are not close friends, he said by giving away the ring, and you cannot speak to me in this way.

It was just as well she was soon going to be much further from Númenórë, really – just as well, that was, except for hardly ever getting to see Silmariën.

Galadriel stood with Tindómiel at the celebration, watching it from the sidelines, and it took her a moment to notice the princess in question was approaching them now.

The Nolde smiled at her in greeting. "I brought something for you," she said after the welcoming platitudes were spoken, "to add to the treasures of your new house."

She reached into a hidden pocket of her dress and took out a jewel, perhaps the finest work Tyelperinquar had ever done. After he made his unlimited offer of his services, Galadriel asked him for a thing of beauty for Silmariën, something that would show without words that to Galadriel's mind, she was the rightful queen of Númenórë, that she should bear the Sceptre.

The jewel Tyelperinquar presented her with was beyond what she could have hoped for. It seemed to her as if an echo of the Silmarils gleamed in it, and Galadriel wondered that the distant memory of seeing those miraculous works centuries ago was enough for her cousin to create this exquisite piece of beauty and light. But there it was before her, pure and beautiful, untouched by the doom that always prevented her from sheer enjoyment of the greatest creations of Fëanáro.

Now she presented Tyelperinquar's work to Silmariën, whose eyes widened in wonder. "Aunt," she said then, slowly, "I cannot accept that."

"Whyever not? It was made for you. Tyelperinquar calls it The Star."

"But it is...it is too much, too beautiful, I-"

"Nothing is too much or too beautiful for you, beloved. I wish you to know that you are loved and appreciated, on this day more than on any other." Galadriel took her hands in hers, pressing the Star into them. She looked into Silmariën's eyes and said softly: "Do not let bitterness consume you, Princess."

"I am not-" the lady started, but Galadriel only shook her head at her.

"I can see your heart," she said. "And I understand it completely. There were many times that I have seen a crown upon a head of one of my family and thought, why is it not me? I would have been so much better for it."

Silmariën hesitated. "You really do understand, do you not?"

"Yes. More than anyone, I believe. But you are a great lady, and you will create a great house of your own, and-" here, Galadriel was hit by a vision, suddenly and unexpectedly, and she added in a more distant voice: "and from your house, the hope of Númenórë will arise."

Silmariën frowned. "Hope of Númenórë? What do you mean?"

It had been a long time since Galadriel had a proper vision, and she now struggled to put it into words. "There is...darkness in the future of this realm, though it is far away still by your count. But of your house, a hope for it will arise."

"Darkness? In this bright age?"

Galadriel was as worried by that discovery as Silmariën, for that was the first premonition she had of something like this. She had hoped they were done with darkness. Were not the pains that were part of Arda, like parting with Elros, not enough?

"At least there is a strong source of light as well," she said, thinking that with the Enemy, there had been none, except in the West.

Silmariën inclined her head to that, but Tindómiel was not distracted by the hope even for a moment. "What exactly did you see?" She asked.

Galadriel frowned. "It was very vague," she said. "There was...darkness covering Middle-Earth, and coming to Númenórë and swallowing it whole, except for a single stream of light that went and destroyed all of the darkness."

"But how?" Tindómiel insisted.

"I do not know. Perhaps the visions will clear up later."

"I should probably warn my brother," Silmariën mused.

"You can, of course," Galadriel replied, "but it might not be in his lifetime. You need to convince him that he needs to tell his children, and they need to tell theirs."

"Let us hope my nephew will be capable of passing such an important message down," Silmariën muttered, and at Tindómiel's look, she immediately said: "I am sorry."

Tindómiel did not reply. She was not very close to young Anardil because she tried very hard not to be, but she liked him. She felt a kindred spirit in him, and their friendship deepened when the Prince came to Lindon fifteen years ago, and then during his other visits. Galadriel knew that in his case, it cost her some struggle to keep at least a modicum of distance. She herself had been markedly less charmed by the young man showing up unannounced in their lands, but she did understand why Tindómiel liked him at least.

"Do not be," she replied for Tindómiel, "but tell us why you think this way."

Silmariën sighed. "I am aware that you do not know him much, Aunt," she said, "given that while here, you always spend most of the time with the king or me or Meneldur...but with apologies to my great-aunt once again, my nephew's character is one of the reasons I resent my brother's inheritance a little. I have never mentioned this before, hoping that his faults would disappear with age, but they do not seem to do so. I have full faith in my brother's ability to rule-" she raised her hand to forestall Galadriel. "Yes, I do believe I would be better at it, perhaps, but he will be good too. He is very much like Father, and Father was not a bad king, though he was perhaps no Elros or Amandil. But my nephew...he is an adventurer."

"There is nothing wrong with adventuring," Tindómiel observed.

"No," Galadriel agreed, "but it might not be the best quality in a king." She frowned. "I fear Elrond is not so very close to this young prince either, and if what you say is true they are unlikely to be in the future, for their character differences, so there is not much hope of a positive influence there...yet if the darkness is coming, it could matter a great deal who rules. Silmariën, could you perhaps attempt…?"

"I could," she replied, "but we do not like each other much, the prince and me."

Galadriel frowned. She truly did not wish to ask this, but… "Could you at least try to speak to him, then, Tindómiel? About his beliefs and values, so that we know what to fear? I mean, I assume that is not what you normally discuss, and he might be open with you..."

The princess sighed. "I will do my best."

Being a lady of her word, she went to try just that soon enough, and Galadriel bid goodbye to Silmariën and went in search of Elrond.

She found him watching the new king with melancholy eyes as he was talking to Artanáro. He was almost as close with Elendil as he had been with Vardamir, and regretted his approaching passing bitterly, even though he loved Meneldur as well.

"I am here to pull you out of your meditations," Galadriel said with a soft smile. "I have just heard the most interesting things from Silmariën. I gather you have not grown any closer to the king's son since his first visit to Lindon?"

"Anardil? Or, as he prefers, Aldarion?" Elrond asked, surprised. "No. I have never felt the immediate closeness with him that I did with Vardamir, or with Aldarion's father and grandfather."

"Silmariën has some worries about his ability to rule."

Elrond smiled. "He is only forty years old. Is it not a little too early to judge?"

"To judge, yes," she agreed, "but not to try and influence him in some way. Especially as...I have had a vision, and it seems darkness will come again in some form, though it will not be within this king's lifetime."

Artanáro and Elrond were both alarmed by these news. "What kind of darkness?" Artanáro asked.

Galadriel sighed. "Tindómiel already asked. I do not know. Perhaps the visions will become clearer in time, but so far, I only know it poses danger...especially for Númenórë, but for us as well. We will need to work together closely on this."

"You know I became somewhat friendly with Aldarion when he was in Lindon," Artanáro murmured. "Perhaps I could try to exert some influence?"

Elrond seemed to consider. "Yes, I think the prince would be more likely to listen to you, and you are closer in character, too."

Galadriel laughed. "Silmariën criticized Aldarion for being an adventurer. Are you calling Artanáro one?"

"No," he replied. "But more so than me."

"I will try," Artanáro agreed. "I can invite him to come again, at least, assure him he is always welcome, since I cannot go to Númenórë often enough by far to form any kind of meaningful friendship."

He departed to join Tindómiel in her efforts with the prince, and Elrond gave Galadriel a look that was tinged with despair. "I promised my brother I would protect his children," he said, "but if darkness is coming for them...what can I do?"

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Galadriel prevented herself from thinking about her vision too much until she returned to Lindon, but there, in Celeborn's arms, she finally allowed herself to fully understand it as she retold it to her husband.

"Do you believe The Enemy will be back?" He asked her.

"No," she replied hesitatingly, "but...all the same, it'll be no trifling matter." She shook her head. "I'm truly worried. The vision was very definite. Whatever happens to Middle-Earth, I fear there might be no saving Númenor."

"Poor Elrond," Celeborn muttered.

"Yes...but poor kingdom of Men, too. You haven't been there, my love, you don't know it, but you've seen it in my mind at least. The realm is...truly exceptionally beautiful. More than anything to be found outside of Aman."

"That is why I haven't gone there," he pointed out.

Galadriel knew that, of course. It was difficult for her to leave every time, because of the beauty and because of the memories it awoke in her, but for Celeborn, who loved forests and things that grew even more than she did...it would have been like an open wound.

"So you understand," she said, "what a terrible idea it is for this land to be swallowed by darkness. It...it makes me think of the Darkening of Valinor again, and that's the most dreadful memory I have. Why, why should such a thing happen again? The Enemy was defeated!"

"At least it seems we'll be able to save ourselves this time," he pointed out. "Or the Second born will, anyway. No need to wait for help from the West in increasing despair."

Yes, Galadriel supposed that was a good thing. Only...only if they could hope in help from the West, she could at least dream of seeing some of those she loved once again.

Apart from terrifying her, however, the vision of darkness also made Galadriel realize that she should hurry if she wanted her kingdom, for nothing lasted forever. She had been tarrying for a few decades now, all work done, but no more. She wished to rule in Middle-Earth without darkness for a time at least, and once it did come, her kingdom would need to be strong and well-established to be able to withstand it. Artanáro was loath to give her up, and Elrond, it seemed to her, still needed her support after every visit to Númenórë, but she remembered Uncle Ñolofinwë's words: "Do not take too much responsibility upon yourself," and she knew they could do without her, as much as they would miss her.

And so, the date of departure was set. They would go.

The goodbye to Elrond was heart-wrenching. He clung to her in a manner not unlike when he had been saying goodbye to his brother, and he whispered in her ear: "I have never been without you, never, save those few short years in Balar, and then I had Elros by my side. I know you have desired to go for a long time, and you know I cannot go with you, but...I do not know how to do this, I do not know how to live without your guidance."

This, in turn, reminded her of Elros leaving for Númenórë. She embraced him tighter, but then said: "Do not lie to yourself, beloved, you know how perfectly well. You were never forced to, true – and perhaps that is another reason for me to go, so that you realize fully how ready you are to live your life by your own advice. As I have told you before, you do not need me, not in this way."

He withdrew a little to look at her, and his eyes were glistening with tears. "I am to take on your role as Chief Councillor," he said. "Is it not absurd? I am so young, and I do not feel ready for it in the slightest."

"But you are. Artanáro believes so, and so do I. When we discussed who would take my place, we both agreed on you immediately." She smirked. "I am more worried about Erestor taking yours."

He looked troubled. "Do you truly-?"

"No, I am only teasing you. My personal...issues with Erestor do not lead me to doubt is capabilities. Besides, the council meetings will surely become all the more amusing now. I am almost sorry I will miss it."

"I am sure Artanáro will let you join the council when you come to visit."

"And you? You will be the Chief of it, after all."

He grimaced, but laughed, and they embraced again before she passed to her other nephew who was like her son, and who was so much like her. To him, she said: "You are the best king we have ever had, beloved. Do not lose faith in yourself, and remember, if you ever need me, do not hesitate to call, for I will come. I may be leaving, but I will never abandon you."

Artanáro gave her a warm smile. "I would not begrudge you this, Aunt, not ever. You now I wanted to give you my entire kingdom. I will miss you, yes, but then I hope you will visit sometimes?"

"Yes – and I hope you will visit as well! Of course, only after the city is completed," Galadriel added, and they both laughed, remembering Elros, even though it was tinged with sadness.

"My realm," Artanáro continued, "will be even more Sindarin now than it was before. And yet my Sindarin advisor leaves me," he said, smiling at Celeborn.

"Don't let Amonel hear that," Celeborn returned, "or Oreth. You know that the sea-people are more numerous in your realm than those from the forests."

"And it's always been a mostly Sindarin realm, as you know," Galadriel added, "in spite of a Noldorin lord ruling it. What difference does it make that it will be four fifths instead of two thirds from now on?"

"You're correct, of course, as always. You, on the other hand, are going to have a _properly Noldorin realm_." Galadriel laughed almost against her will, and checked that Tyelperinquar was not near enough to hear and be embarrassed by this reminder of the mistake he regretted so bitterly.

"Don't say that!" She replied then, mock-horrified. "Or Celeborn will change his mind and stay here!"

But then their jokes ran dry, and they simply embraced in silence, each thinking of the years to come without the other's advice at their fingertips. Their minds were in synchrony only rarely found outside of marriage. "Eru be with you," he muttered into her ear.

"And with you, and all the Valar," she returned, before she very reluctantly let him go. Sarnel, after all, was waiting to give her last farewells to her father, and so Galadriel moved on to the others she would miss.

Of the goodbyes that remained, one of the more painful was the one to Lord Laurefindil. "Take care of Elrond for me, please," she entreated him.

"Of course, my lady. Always. That is why I came back, is it not? But I will miss your help in it."

She smiled. "I remember another farewell, when you said something similar," she said, thinking of that time over a millennium ago, when she was leaving Hithlum for Doriath.

"So do I, my lady," he replied, "and I hope that time will not prove the wisdom of what I said as well as it had then."

"Are you attempting to make me feel guilty, Lord Laurefindil?"

"I would never dare to attempt any such thing."

She laughed and shook her head at him, and moved on to Ambë.

"So we had a few short centuries together," one of her oldest friends in Middle-Earth said, "and now we are to be separated by miles of land again."

"Indeed, the distance is not unlike the one between Doriath and Falas," Galadriel observed, "but I do hope I will come here a little more often. I will have nowhere else to travel, after all."

"No," Ambë agreed, "but you will be Queen."

Galadriel only nodded. The idea that her dream, her goal, was within her reach was incredible. What she had hoped for for centuries, no, for thousands of years, finally coming true.

She went to say farewell to Maewel and her children. It was time to go.

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When her company laid eyes on the site of their new home, there was no small amount of exclamations of awe and wonder. Even Galadriel herself felt like she was enchanted anew by that place. Its beauty was arresting, and now it was high summer and the bright sky and the sharp sun made the mountaintops sparkle even more brightly than when she had been here before, the contrasts between the blue and the white more marked, and the rich green of the holly bushes more pronounced. It was simply so perfect, all of it. It was as if directly from a dream.

She felt Celeborn's touch on her hand and when she turned to him, he said quietly: "It's perfect."

She could sense the wonder behind his words and smiled at him, amused by the comeplete agreement of their thoughts. "You've seen it before, in my mind," she pointed out.

"The strength of your images is extraordinary," he admitted, "but it still can't quite rival reality."

No, it never could – that was why partings hurt, and why her missing loved ones would always be like an open wound. But that was not what Galadriel wanted to think of now.

She gave the weary travellers time to refresh from the sight before them, but when midday came, she said: "Sarnel, make sure there are guards set along the valley entrance, and that all others are within the perimeter. Tyelperinquar, find the elves best suited for the work and set out to strengthen the road leading here tomorrow. You will need to take care of the ford crossing and replace the bridge, too. Make sure Sarnel sends enough guards with you. Feliel, take care of distributing food. And you, beloved," she smiled at Celeborn, "make sure everyone does what they're supposed to and settles in for camp, if you can. I have an errand that can't wait."

And before anyone could question her, she disappeared in the forest. Celeborn knew where she was headed, of course. He did not entirely approve, but he did respect that this was, finally, he realm, and so it was her decision. She hoped his distant kin would be equally understanding.

Lost in these musings, she walked through the forest as the sun slowly approached the horizon. This part of the valley, too, was as beautiful as it had been before, and the trees were as welcoming. She crossed the river and ascended the path that led to the gates of Hadhodrond. The dwarf on duty frowned at her in a very unfriendly manner. "What do you want?" He asked.

"Many years ago," she replied, "I spoke to Skirvir, son of An, in this place, and I asked him to give a message to his son and to his king."

"Are you Lady Galadriel?" The dwarf asked suspiciously.

In answer, she let the hood fall off. "Yes," she answered simply. "Are you, perchance, Skirvir's descendant?"

"No; but we've been told to expect you for a long time now, by our kings."

"I'm honoured," she replied. "Would the current King ascend to speak with me?"

"Why should he?" Came the rude answer.

Galadriel shrugged. "I came to the entrance to his realm."

The dwarf grunted. "I'll take the message," he replied. "We'll see what happens."

Assuming that it would take some time to reach the depths of the city, Galadriel occupied herself by studying the statues just beyond the gate. She had to admit they were things of extraordinary beauty. It made her think of Thousand Caves and Narogrotto, of the beautiful things that could be achieved when elves and dwarves worked together. She very much hoped it would be possible once more.

"Lady Galadriel," came a voice, and she turned to see a new dwarf standing in the gates. "I'm Ai, son of Núr, son of Skirvir. The king's son will come to treat with you in a short while. I was sent ahead."

Galadriel inclined her head. "It's an honour to meet you, Ai, son of Núr. I've only now been admiring the craftsmanship of your people."

"And we've heard tales about that of yours," he returned.

"I hope," she smiled, "you'll soon have more than only tales, for we brought many skilled craftsmen with us."

"In direct neighbourhood, our skills can finally be clearly compared."

"Yes, but I'd hope it needn't be only competition that binds us. For have not the halls of Nargothrond been born out of cooperation between our races?"

"And those of Thousand Caves too, and the Dwarven Necklace," came a response from a different source, and what she was almost certain must have been the prince stood before her. "I'm not so certain such cooperation's been profitable to us."

Galadriel sighed. "The halls of Thousand Caves stood unmatched in their beauty for long years before the tragedy struck, and the Dwarven Necklace was worn for centuries by the rulers of Nargothrond before Glaurung cursed its treasure. The bitter ends of those meetings of our races don't need to cast a shadow on what came before."

"What do you know of it!"

"Much, for I've walked the halls of Thousand Caves and Nargothrond, and I wore the Dwarven Necklace on my neck, before and after the Silmaril was added to it, and the memory of them lives in me."

The prince seemed taken aback.

"Didn't you know who I was?" Galadriel asked mildly.

"We knew you were Maedhros' cousin," he replied, "and married to a nobleman of Doriath, and now an advisor to Gil-Galad. We had no idea of your connection to Nargothrond."

That amused Galadriel greatly. "Finrod Felagund," she said, "who now walks the lands of Aman, is my brother, and Orodreth, the king in Nargothrond after him, is my nephew. For a time, I was like Nargothrond's queen." Her mind drifted to memories, but she pulled herself back. "King Gil-Galad, who rules in Lindon now, is Orodreth's son, and I am his kin as well as advisor. As for Doriath, my husband is Thingol's great-nephew, like me, for my mother is his brother's daughter."

The prince seemed impressed against himself. "Then allow me to introduce myself as well," he said. "I'm Durin, son of King Farin of Hadhodrond."

"It's an honour to meet you, my prince."

"And you, I suppose, if only because you still remember some of our forefathers' greatest works. What do you want from us?"

"As you know, we'll be settling the lands close to here. I wish for us to live in peace next to each other, and trade with each other, and perhaps, in time, even work together." She hesitated, but it needed to be said: "Some of Doriath have come with us, and their families. Given their love for the forests, it may well happen that they will settle just across the river from you. They'll be suspicious at the beginning. Tread carefully."

Durin bristled. "Are you to tell us where we're allowed to go in lands that were ours until now?"

"Don't you live inside the mountains? I have no intention of limiting you in any way, sons of Durin. But I wish for peace, and I know the hearts of those elves are still troubled. It would be a tragedy if simple lack of care or forewarning ruined our growing friendship."

"There is no friendship between us, elf."

"No, there isn't. But I very much hope there might be one day."

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When Galadriel returned to Hollin proper, it was night already, and her people were gathered in small groups in front of their tents, speaking as they ate dinner.

She watched them from the shadows for a time. _My people_ , she thought. They truly were, for the first time. They all abandoned their comfortable houses and security to go with her – she tried not to think about the Sindar who might have come because of their prejudice against the Select – and now they all rested, seemingly happy with the place she chose for them.

 _Please, let the darkness wait a few centuries at least_ , she prayed, not even knowing to whom. _Let my realm grow strong before it comes. Let me be happy here for a time._

She looked at the people again, and as she did so, noticed Tyelperinquar looking around with a slightly worried glance. She smiled to herself and walked up to him. "Are you looking for someone?"

He exhaled and gave a small laugh. "Cousin," he said. "I think Lord Celeborn's nervousness rubbed off on me. You should let him know you are back."

She was amused. "He already knows. Seeing each other's mind, remember?"

He flushed faintly. "I did say I will no longer try to pretend to understand anything but forge matters, but I cannot seem to keep my own advice."

"Well, I hope you will not. I want you on my council."

He stared. "Are you certain that is wise?"

"Many craftsmen came with us here, and if my hopes come true, there will be much trade and perhaps even cooperation with the dwarves of Hadhodrond. Those responsible for that should be represented, and who better than the most skilled craftsman since the days of Fëanáro?"

"You are hardly about to discuss matters of technical procedure on the council," he pointed out.

She sighed. "No, but...look, I believe your choice to hide from the world unwise. You have had time to learn to live with your mistake, and now you should face things again. I truly think that, if you put your mind to it, your council can be valuable. And it can motivate you to do so."

"You should not appoint your council members because you think it will help them heal."

"Why ever not? I already did just to irritate people," Galadriel muttered.

"What?" He asked, uncomprehending.

"Oh, never mind. It is just a little ting. But, anyway, as I have just said, I do believe you to be competent. That I also think it will help you is merely accidental."

"I will...think about it," he conceded.

"Do not let fear stop you," she she encouraged him, turning to leave.

"Fear?" He sounded irritated. "I am not afraid, I am..."

"Oh, beloved, do not regress back to that touchy child you used to be," Galadriel said with exasperation, turning back to him. If he was to be on her council, she needed the version of him she had known for the last century, not the one from before his mistake. "You are afraid of failing in the council, you have as much as told me yourself. Do not be. I have faith in your abilities, and what wisdom you do not have, you can learn." She smiled. "It will not be you, after all, who will be making the final decisions."


	47. Queen

AN: Making up for missed updates: 3/3. Next update will likely be on Friday, since I can't do two days in a row.

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 **Chapter 47: Queen**

 _Year 799 of the Second Age, Hollin_

Galadriel, like once before, stood atop the highest terrace of her house and surveyed her work.

Only this time, the house was a royal palace and her work was her own realm, the realm which she ruled.

The realm which she loved.

Under her – and Celeborn's, too – guidance, Hollin had truly grown into the most beautiful kingdom to be seen, at least to her, who did not love the sea enough to fully appreciate Lindon. It was a kingdom between the forest and the mountain, bordered on both sides by something much greater than mere elven realms subject to the passing of time, and yet it carved a place for itself, an unmistakeable, indisputable place in that space after the mountains ended and before the forest began, just beyond the river that ran down from the highest mountaintops with the cheerful sound that always cheered Galadriel whenever she heard it. It seemed to speak of fresh days and crisps mornings, and when she was sometimes weary, listening to that made her feel young again, as if she was setting her eyes on Lórien for the first time.

She could see the entire capital from her vantage point, the beautiful buildings that merged so well with the landscape of their valley, the bushes of holly everywhere, their beautiful smell a constant presence. The city was full of people, and many of them children, too, the first generation to be born in this new realm. They all seemed to very happy, happy in the kingdom they built for themselves, in the lives they chose, with everything fate sent their way in the last century or so. They had not hit a single block in their path to making this place beautiful and perfect, and especially those who remembered how hard it had been to build a realm while waging war against the Enemy, or even just starting completely anew as they had with Lindon, were very grateful.

The terraces of Galadriel's palace were bellow her and she looked down at them now, vast and beautifully decorated as they were, with flowers creeping over them and with the best of Tyelperinquar's work. An eagle flew over her head, one of the King's eagles, and she smiled as her eyes drifted to it, thinking of the protection these allies gave to them.

The King had flown to her a day after they arrived in Hollin, when they had all still been living in tents. "I come," he had said, "as promised."

"I am grateful, my lord," she replied. "Is there anything I can do for you in return?"

If eagles could laugh, that was what he did then. "Do not put yourself in danger," he said, and that was it.

Eagles, she had long suspected and confirmed since then, were creatures of few words.

Her mind travelled beyond the capital again, to the houses and settlements of those – chiefly Sindar – who wished to stay a little more apart from the others, from the buzz of the city. A few of them lived directly in the small forest on the edges the valley, but most had houses between it and river Mitheithel, making the land spattered with their abodes like tiny dots on a patterned cloth. Galadriel did not find the time to go outside the capital as often as she wished to, but both Celeborn and Tindómiel did so more often, and reported that the Sindar were happy there, close to the nature they loved and yet protected well by a kingdom. Many of them were glad for the chance to meet Ents again, in the Great Forest just across the river. Yes, even those who could not profit from their closeness to the dwarven kingdom found something to be happy with in the setting of Hollin.

Celeborn came out from their rooms just then, and embraced Galadriel from behind. "Are you admiring our work?" He asked.

"Yes," she admitted with a smile.

"Well, it _is_ pretty great work," he muttered into her ear. "And all yours, my queen."

"Mmm. Not quite yet, technically. The coronation has to wait for Rodnor to get here."

"As you say, a mere technicality. Do not let it keep you from enjoying the title you've longed for for so long."

"I don't," she assured him with a laugh, and leaned back in his embrace.

They stayed like this for a while, just resting in each other's minds and arms, and then Galadriel gave a small sigh and asked: "Are you happy?"

He seemed taken aback. "Yes, of course. Why wouldn't I be?"

"Well...this was my dream, not yours. And it took you from many good friends. Oreth, Maewel, Lord Círdan...they all stayed behind."

"I have you."

She made a small exasperated sound. "You know perfectly well that's not ideal, having only each other for company. We aren't Beren and Lúthien."

"No, but I'm closer to them than you are. I need fewer people than you to feel content and at home."

"Fewer people, yes. But none…?" Galadriel kept prodding. She did not want her husband to be unhappy in this perfect realm they made for themselves.

"I'm friendly enough with many of the Sindar here, and some of the Noldor, if not intimate." He paused, and his embrace tightened as he said in a distant voice: "There's one whose company I'd appreciate, of course, but..."

"Who?"

He exhaled. "You know the answer to that, my love."

She did. "You want a child."

"Yes." He hesitated. "I...you know I don't want to pressure you, I know how much it'll cost you, but you asked, and I..."

"No, you're right, I gave you my word that once I had a realm of my own – my dream – I'd give you yours. And I'm stalling. It's just that..." But she shook her head. "No, it's only excuses. Whatever remaining reservations I have won't disappear with another few hundred years. I...promise I'll start getting ready for it, preparing in my mind. But...it might take me some time."

"Take all the time you need, my love. All of it. It's my wish, yes, but I would never force this on you-"

She covered his mouth with her hand.

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Galadriel wished to stay true to her word, and did begin to prepare for the possibility of having a child, but then news came from the East that put a stop to that.

She walked in the Great Forest sometimes, talking to the Ents – though only on the edges, as not to disturb the trees too much - and this was how she heard it, in the low rumble of Treebeard. "There's trouble brewing in the far lands," he said. "We see it, when we go and visit entwives. There's dark trouble."

"What kind of dark trouble?" She asked, thinking of her vision.

"There's evil there," he replied, "old evil, as old as I am."

Gaadriel's eyes widened. "But The Enemy...he's gone, isn't he?"

"There are many enemies," was Treebeard's enigmatic reply.

So Galadriel sent scouts and asked Celeborn to write to Amdír and Oropher to consult them and ask whether they knew something, all the while thinking, no, this was too soon! She had thought they had more time! She had had only so few years in the bliss of her realm, not even a whole century, she as not ready!

And what about the child that Celeborn wanted? She had hoped she had time for that as well! At least a century of security, to raise them in peace… She felt as if she was looking for excuses again, but if war was truly brewing, she could not have the responsibility of bringing a child into that world. She would not. She still remembered Ohtwarwen too well. But would Celeborn understand?

Perhaps it would at least be long before any evil came of this new enemy directly for Hollin, and so there would be enough time, that century she needed… But still, she worried and it marred the pure enjoyment of her new realm. And when the scouts returned, she worried even more. She called Sarnel into her rooms to sit down with her and Celeborn to discuss the matter. When Artanáro finally came to see Hollin and crown her, she waited for him with a troubled face.

Both he and his entourage rode into the valley with wonder in their faces, but his soon changed to joy, and as soon as he dismounted, his daughter was in his arms. "Sarnel, beloved," he muttered into her hair, and Galadriel could see that while he was laughing, there were also tears in his eyes.

She waited to the side, giving them space, until Artanáro let his daughter go to her mother, who was just being warmly welcomed by Celeborn. Then, he looked at Galadriel and she smiled, extengind her hands to him, and in a few short steps he was in her arms too. "I missed you, Aunt," he said after a moment, when the rawest emotion passed. "But your realm truly is beautiful."

"I know," she said with a smile, to both of his statements, as her eyes glistened with tears. "There is no sea to be had here, but tell me you did not miss the beauty of the mountains!"

"I cannot," he agreed, "and it is also true that these mountains have beauty that those we knew in Beleriand never reached. Your choice was excellent." He paused. "Are you happy?"

She sighed and grew serious. "Had you asked a year ago," she said, "I would have said perfectly so, or as perfectly as one can be outside of Aman. But now...there are troubling news."

"What sort of troubling news?"

"Let us save it for the inside."

He nodded, and they spent some more time in joyful welcomes before they could afford to slip away into Galadriel's study.

"Any success in improving relations with Amdír and Oropher?" He asked as they headed there.

"With Amdír, there is some chance, and I have even began writing to him directly, not just through Celeborn...but with Oropher, not much. Celeborn keeps trying. His letters are not returned unopened as mine would have been, but Oropher is yet to see reason."

"I suppose you will keep at it?"

"We must. Especially now," Galadriel added, opening the door to her room.

"What do you mean?" Artanáro asked as she motioned for him to sit down.

"There are rumours reaching us from the East," she explained, pouring him wine. "It seems my premonition is coming to pass now. Darkness is rising again."

"Already," Artanáro said, closing his eyes in resignation. "I have hoped we would be given more time..."

"So did I." Galadriel handed him the glass and they toasted each other.

"How did it happen, do you know?" The king asked after drinking deeply. "The Enemy was defeated and taken beyond the Sea to be punished by the Valar. We saw it with our own eyes."

Galadriel shook her head. "It is not him in person," she said. "But he had many servants, and the Valar were not quite as diligent in capturing all of them. The rumours are unable to tell me his identity directly, but if I understand the signs and my premonitions right..."

"Yes?"

"Sauron."

That one word was hard as stone and sharp as a sword blade, and Artanáro was unable to control the shudder.

"At least it is not the Enemy," he tried to reassure her after a moment. "You managed to hold _him_ off for hundreds of years, surely his servant will not be that much of a problem?"

"We managed because we had tens of thousands of fighters just come from Aman, filled with light. How many are left that have seen the light of the Blessed Lands now, tell me? Three hundred? Less?"

The King looked away. "Those of us not born in Aman are not entirely useless, you know."

Galadriel, who had avoided sitting down and paced the room with her glass in her hand instead, retorted: "No, but they are less use fighting against the Enemy than those who were. And stop the self-pity, you know it hardly applies to you. _You_ have seen Lúthien with the Silmaril. You can draw on the light."

He nodded a little sheepishly, still not quite looking at her. "There are those who remember Lady Melian, too," he added.

"Oh, yes. Another hundred or two. Artanáro, if there was still an army of elves from Aman, I would not hesitate to march East and destroy him once and for all. But what can we do with what we have? We are at the fifth of the numbers we were when we crossed the Ice now, and our real fighting ability is even lower, incomparably so."

"Are you sure a few hundred are not enough? You brother went against Sauron with ten, and your uncle rode against the Enemy alone."

Galadriel gave him a scorching look. "They both died, in case you have not noticed."

"Yes, but...they were not quite squished easily, were they?" He insisted. "With hundreds of elves from the West..."

"If you are speaking about my brother and my uncle, you can hardly compare them to even regular elven elders," she said, still pacing.

"You are more powerful than they were," Artanáro pointed out.

"Yes," Galadriel admitted, "but powerful enough for Sauron? That is the true question. I simply do not know. Sometimes I believe so, and yet...And Sauron is not alone. Our scouts discovered that he has already started breeding orcs and gathering evil men to his side."

"The armies could take care of that."

"Could they? In their present state? You know that, believing we lived in times of peace now, we neglected their training." Galadriel sighed. "Sarnel already gave me a long lecture about that, and I have to admit she is right. We should not have assumed. I should not have assumed. But I have, and now our armies are weak and his are stronger. Not even the few hundred from the West we have at the moment is enough to defeat him in an open battle. Our best chance is to hit him before he gains strength, but we cannot do it now. For now, we have to try and contain him in any way we can. Prevent him from replenishing his numbers while we do."

Artanáro merely nodded and drank again. There was silence, then he said: "I hoped so much that this was all behind us..."

"Believe me, so did I."

Another silence.

"You are in a better position to act than I am. What exactly is your plan?"

Galadriel sighed and finally sat down. "I discussed this with your daughter, and we suggest sending more scouts to find out as much as possible before we start devising a strategy. I would like to be ready to act within two hundred years. Three, at most. There will be more of us by then, and hopefully, Oropher can be convinced too and will deign to help us."

"There are not many who remember the Light in his realm."

"No, but it is the most populous elven realm in Middle-Earth. We need him." She paused. "What about Númenórë? I am sure Elrond keeps you informed about the current moods at court there. Would they help?"

"I do not imagine Meneldur would be too keen," Artanáro replied, "but you know your plotting worked and I am now a close friend – or as close as one can be with so much distance dividing us - with Aldarion. He might well be more amenable. He even made peace with his father recently and was proclaimed Heir, so Meneldur may actually listen to his son's suggestions where he would not hear mine, something I would have thought impossible a decade ago."

"Try your best, then. We might need all the help we can get."

There was a knock at the door, and Sarnel entered. "Mother is with Celeborn," she said, "so I thought now might be a good time..."

"Of course. Do come in." To Artanáro, she explained: "I asked your daughter to join us as we discuss strategy. I want her input."

Sarnel gave her father a fleeting look. "I still feel uncomfortable about this," she said. "I mean, you both have so much more experience than me leading wars."

"Not that much more in my case," Artanáro corrected her with a smile. "I coordinated the Middle-Earth forces in the war, yes, but that was a very different kind of war. And before that, I had never truly been in charge of an army."

"There is a reason I made you my chief commander, beloved," Galadriel added. "I know Lord Laurefindil taught you more than only how to use a sword, and he is a very experienced commander. Perhaps the most experienced one left in Middle-Earth. We will need your input."

Sarnel frowned. "Father should have brought Lord Laurefindil with him."

"If I knew that darkness was rising again, I certainly would have," Artanáro noted. "It was difficult enough to convince him to stay behind when Elrond went with me as it was."

"I know you would like to see him again, but perhaps you would feel even more uncomfortable in his presence, and I would still have wanted to hear your opinions," Galadriel added. "But enough of this, we have matters to discuss. Artanáro, how much help do you believe Aldarion could get us?"

"That all depends on how honest I am with him, and here I admit I am a little hesitant. He is a good man, in most ways, but he does not guard his tongue, and if I tell him too much and he speaks unwisely in front of his men...well. I would prefer to simply speak to his father, but at the same time, as I said, he will be less likely to help without his son's support...and besides, I do not particularly desire to go to Númenórë now that I know this. It is a long journey, and I am away now. I need to be in Lindon sometimes as well, to prepare for the war. As you pointed out, our army needs improvement."

At that, Sarnel nodded empathetically.

"Write to him, then," Galadriel suggested, "and tell him what you believe he needs to hear, and tell Aldarion what you believe _he_ should know. Together, it might work."

"Hopefully," Aldarion agreed, "though I am not certain Meneldur will trust a mere letter..."

"We can hardly arrange for him to see the new evil with his own eyes," Galadriel pointed out.

"No," Sarnel mused, "but perhaps...Aldarion is a mariner, is he not?"

Her father nodded. "One of the greatest to ever live. He reminds me of Eärendil with his passion."

"A mariner and an explorer...perhaps if he saw the evil with his own eyes, that could help convince his father?"

Artanáro frowned at her. "Do you want me to encourage the heir of Númenórë to sail to danger?"

"There is scarcely any danger in this sense," Galadariel replied, shaking her head. "Our scouts are able to go there quite safely. They could lead him there too, in secret. With Tindómiel's help, we could convince him." She considered some more. "Sarnel's idea is brilliant, in fact. Encourage Aldarion to sail east, next time he comes. We will have fresh news, information from someone with a different point of view, which is always good...and Aldarion will, hopefully, gain the desire to act, and convince his father."

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The diadem Tyelperinquar made for Galadriel was a thing of beauty.

He had brought it to her a few days before the coronation, in case she had some objections and he needed to make changes. The first to catch her eye was a gem not unlike The Star he made for Silmariën, shining so brightly it seemed to be a reflection of the Silmaril. "I did not know you could make another one like this," she muttered. She knew, from Fëanáro, that great works of art could hardly ever be repeated.

"This was likely the last one," he admitted. "It took work, but...I truly wanted to. I made the jewel for the Lady of Andúnië at your request, as something that would express her queenship, her nique value. When faced with making the diadem for you...I knew I wanted the same things. And it seems appropriate. I know you like the lady, and say that you are similar in character. Is it not right, then, that the jewels that denote your station would also be similar in a way?"

"One for the line of the Second born, one for the line of the First born." She smiled. "Yes, yes, it is appropriate." She tore her eyes away from the central stone to look at the rest of her crown. It was made of gold, but that gold was hardly seen under the hundreds of little diamonds, surrounding the larger emeralds.

"I knew there was no point in trying to show my gold craftsmanship, when no gold would ever outshine your hair-" Tyelperinquar began, and Galadriel shifted uncomfortably.

He looked away. "I told you I was past this, and I am," he said, "but...I will never lose the awareness of your beauty I gained during those years, I think. And your hair, in particular, is simply a marvel. So I chose to cover the diadem with glittering stones instead. The reflected light will make your hair shine all the brighter. And the emeralds, of course...to bring out your eyes."

Galadriel sighed now, as she remembered the conversation. She believed him that he was past his infatuation, but it still made her uncomfortable to hear him speak so. She wished he would truly fall in love, then perhaps she could be calmer.

But then her mind returned to the present, and to the crown that awaited her, and she checked that everything was in order one last time in the full-length mirror by her side. It was the day when she would fully become the Queen of her realm, at last, and all had to be perfect.

Her dress was of rich green, to match the diadem that awaited her, and there were emeralds in her earrings, bracelets and rings as well, all made by Tyelperinquar personally, though probably with some help of his Noldorin apprentices, she supposed. The dress, on the other hand, was made by seamstresses of Doriath. The writing that was once again embroidered on her clothes was chosen by Quendingoldo and Tindómiel. Most of those dear to her took part in helping her prepare for this day, and so, after making one last inspection, she stepped out to walk towards the Queen's hall of her palace, where Artanáro waited to make her Queen of Hollin with the final ceremony.

It was, she mused as she walked down her hall, a nice symmetry. She had crowned him all those centuries ago, as the oldest member of the house of Finwë this side of the Sea, and now he would crown her in turn, as the High King.

As he put the diadem on her head and gave her his royal blessing, she looked into Celeborn's eyes and for a moment forgot all about a new darkness rising. She only saw the fulfilment of all her dreams, and those she loved – at least some of them – there to see it, and she thought: this, this is happiness. Lord Eru, let me keep it, at least for a while.

When she straightened again, the crown on her head, she received official congratulatory speeches from various representatives of Lindon. Artanáro's carried the most import, she knew, but there were others that touched her heart. Elrond spoke of her being as successful at Queenship as his brother had been at kingship, putting tears in her eyes. Tindómiel spoke of the possibilities for the future. Lord Ciryatan spoke about Galadriel protecting her people.

His presence was perhaps the most valuable. He could hardly ever be bestirred to abandon his beloved havens, and that he came on this day – and what was more, that he left Arminas behind, ruling the Havens in his stead – that was a true sacrifice on his part, and Galadriel valued it.

Yes, she was very blessed indeed. If only they could contain Sauron, prevent him from spreading his evil...then all would be well.

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Hollin's relations with Hadhodrond were good – better than Galadriel had dared to hope, trade blooming and no incidents arising – and in light of the recent troubling discoveries, she knew that after her coronation, it was time for another step.

Celeborn was worried.

"Be careful, my love, I beg you," he said.

"Of course," she replied. "You know I always am. And these aren't the dwarves that slew your family."

"No," he agreed, "but didn't the king of Dwarrowdelf provide shelter to those left of Nogrod?"

"And didn't my own brother provide shelter to the two worst sons of Feanor, while seeing Midhel's suffering with his own eyes?"

He exhaled. "Yes," he said, "you're right, it doesn't have to mean anything. Still..."

"I know." Galadriel kissed his brow, put on her cloak and her new crown, and departed.

The invitation to enter Hadhodrond to meet the king had been a result of years of correspondence and careful diplomatic relations with king Farin, and now that the time for it came, Galadriel found she was curiously and pleasantly excited by this new challenge. She had never entered a dwarven kingdom before, and in fact, she did not know of any elf who did. The works of art that left their forges were beautiful. If the city was the same…

She reached the gates, and found two dwarves for her escort already waiting there, their faces stoic as they greeted her by a slight inclination of their head. "We're to bring you to the king," one of them said, his voice laced with slight disapproval.

Galadriel indicated her agreement, and the gates opened before her, and she entered. There was a wide stairway facing her, and she went with her guards, up and the through a corridor with carved archways, and then down and down and then, when the way straightened again, to a much wider corridor, more richly decorated.

This, she saw, was where the true beauty of Hadhodrond began.

It was a mystifying experience. While Thousand caves and Narogrotto had both been built by dwarves, they had been built according to an elvish design. This was different. The lines seemed sharper and harder everywhere, the shapes never smooth, and yet it had its own kind of monumental beauty, an impressive atmosphere.

And when she entered the king's hall, she was forced to admit that it was no less beautiful than Singollo's or Ingoldo's throne rooms, even though, once again, in a different way.

The rows of columns seemed to run into infinity around them, all shining with the strange kind of light the dwarves used to light their cities, and on them, there were numerous carvings of dwarven kings of old. Behind the throne was the likeness of the first Durin, she knew, Durin the Deathless. And bellow him sat the current king, his heir by his side.

"Galadriel," he said. "So you came."

"Of course. I could not miss the opportunity to see your legendary city."

He grunted. "Are you satisfied, then?"

"Do you mean if I admire it?" She asked plainly. "Yes. Believe me when I say that it does not pale in comparison with those cities that your kin helped to build for the elves in Beleriand."

"We know," he said. "We have sketches."

"Yet living memory can sometimes tell more than a sketch, and things might show themselves to be more beautiful in it. Not in this case, however. Your realm truly can be compared."

"Hm. It's gratifying to hear you admit it, at least. Now, shall we get down to business?"

"Of course." Galadriel sincerely dislike business dealings, but they were part of being a queen, of her dream, and that knowledge helped her bear even them. Whatever more important matters she believed there were to discuss, refusing to discuss trade at the very beginning would not, she knew, be a wise choice. "You wished to talk about mithril crafting, I believe?"

"Yes. Your smiths can make a sort of jewellery we don't, and that we could sell on the other side of the mountains."

"Well, if you could tolerate the presence of another elf here, then next time you graciously invite me, I'll take Celebrimbor, our best expert. He'll be able to give you details. But from what I know, yes, this should be possible. And we should even have a good idea of what might be in demand beyond the mountains, for we have Sindar of Doriath in our realm as well."

There was a hiss in the throne room as the name, and King Farin gave a sharp look in the direction where it originated. "We've heard," he said then, "that your history says different things about Doriath than yours."

"It does," Galadriel agreed, "but then, isn't it always this way? I'm certain the Men who betrayed us in the last battle of the previous age tell a different tale of it as well."

There was another murmur of discontent at this comparison. "You have no witnesses?" The king asked.

"Nor direct ones, no, though there were some who knew that the king entered the forge where the dwarves of Nogrod worked, and that he never left it. But what happened there will forever be a mystery, I fear."

"We have what those who escaped told us."

"Yes, and we have the knowledge that an army from Nogrod massacred every fighter in Thousand Caves," Galadriel said rather sharply.

The king frowned. "You're right," he said then, "there's no sense in returning to past woes, not when none of us actually took part in them." He paused. "You didn't, did you?"

"I wasn't there at the time. Of my people, only twenty or so have been present in Thousand Caves when it happened, and they're all ellith, whose male relatives were slaughtered by your people. It's them who most wished me not to come here." Well, them and Tavoron, but Galadriel felt no particular need to tell the dwarven king about her contrary council member.

The king's frown deepened. "Well, then," he said after a moment, "let's return to details of that trade agreement."

"By all means, king," she replied, and judging that she could do so now, added, "but, with your leave, there's also a matter of great strategic importance I'd like to discuss..."

This sentence gained her an audience in a more private chamber, with only the king and his son. "I know there are no great dwarven kingdoms in the south East," she said, "so you may have heard this and you may have not...but evil is moving again."

The king frowned. "What kind of evil?"

She hesitated for a moment, then said: "Gorthaur."

"That servant of The Enemy?"

"Yes. I know you never had many personal dealings with him, but I did, and...he's no Morgoth, but he's very dangerous. He was responsible for the death of my brother, the king of Nargothrond."

"Do you know anything about his current plans?"

"No, not yet. He's still too weak to attack, but he's gathering the twisted and dark people who remained in service to The Enemy even after he fell, and he's started breeding orcs, too. There'll be war."

King Farin nodded grimly. "So there will."

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AN: Gorthaur is the Sindarin name for Sauron.

Oh and to that lovely anon who keeps sending me religious homophobic hate in reviews, to that one point of actual substance contained therein: you're wrong. We have no clue when Durin II actually ruled. If you were drawing your conclusions from the Gates of Moria, well, allow me to point out that they could have hardly been built at the time of last chapter. But the idea of getting to chat with Tolkien about his work after I die is lovely, thank you! (Also, why didn't the filter I set up in my email inbox to delete your messages work?)


	48. Kings

**Chapter 48: Kings**

 _Year 883 of the Second Age, Armenelos_

The knowledge of the evil in the East changed many things. Galadriel and Celeborn's plans for a family were postponed, many slowly blossoming diplomatic relations were hastened for the purpose of an alliance, and Númenórë had a new king.

"It is a strange feeling, being here again after such a long time," Tindómiel said quietly into Galadriel's ear as they watched the royal procession approaching. "And it is even stranger watching Aldarion become king."

"Strange as in terrifying?" Galadriel asked, amused.

"Not exactly," Tindómiel replied, "do not forget that I never shared your prejudice against him. But he has always been my little nephew, that much is true."

She fell silent at the mention of this, and Galadriel pressed her hand. She knew it still pained Tindómiel, the family she lost when she married Quendingoldo, and her homeland that now mostly regarded her as a stranger.

The procession reached them and they turned their attention to it, watching Aldarion struggle with the ceremonial robes in which he was attired for the occasion. He preferred plain clothing by far, Galadriel knew.

When the ceremony was over and the Sceptre was firmly in his hand, it was time for the feast, where Artanáro and Galadriel sat as guests of honour next to him. There was no wife in sight, Meneldur sitting in her place to Aldarion's other side. Galadriel had heard the rumours from Elrond and in letters from Silmariën, but that she would not come even for the Passing of the Sceptre was the final confirmation that the marriage was broken.

"What led you to give up your throne so early?" She asked Meneldur.

"King _Gil-Galad_ did," he replied. "He wrote me a letter of great importance that made me see it as necessary. It contained certain information that...well, I would rather not discuss it in such a public setting."

Artanáro had suspected this might have been the reason for the unexpected decision, since it came so shortly after he sent his letter with a plea for help, but he had not been sure. Galadriel found it rather typical of Meneldur that he would rather pass the Sceptre to his unsatisfactory son who could not even keep a marriage intact than make up his mind himself. Yes, he and Elendil were similar, but Elendil at least had been more decisive – to Silmariën's grief.

Artanáro laughed at the king's pronouncement. "There is no need," he said, "for in truth it was Queen Alatáriel who let me know of the danger in the East first. It is thanks to her scouts that we know of it."

Meneldur turned to her. "I apologize, my lady," he said. "I did not know. It seems many things escaped me."

Silmariën, who was sitting just next to Meneldur, gave an exasperated sigh. "Something tells me, king," Galadriel commented with a smile, "that your sister tried to warn you."

He nodded seriously. "She did. That is one of the reasons why I gave up the throne, realizing my folly in not listening to her."

"And you believe Aldarion will be better in this?" Silmariën muttered doubtfully.

"Not, perhaps, in listening to you, Aunt," Aldarion said in a slightly mocking tone, "since I know you never leave the island, and it is rather knowledge of different lands that is required here."

Tindómiel frowned. "Do not be rude, Aldarion."

"I will be just as rude as I wish when my kin is muttering offence against me at my own table."

Galadriel sighed. Meneldur might not have been ideal, but she had some doubt this was a better choice. "You insist you have always been wise in your dealings, then?" Silmariën asked.

"I always did what was necessary to fight the evil rising in the world," was his answer.

"That might not, sometimes, be the only important thing," Galadriel said, attempting to be mild.

"Oh? What is more important, then?"

She sighed yet again. There was a number of hurtful things she could say in response, but at length, she only said: "Doing the same within yourself."

As it turned out, that did not serve to calm Aldarion much, and he did not speak to her for the rest of the feast.

As soon as he left the table, Galadriel gave Artanáro a laden look.

"Well, Aldarion and Silmariën have a history of conflict," the High King said quietly in an apologetic voice. "He is bound to be short with her, and with anyone who defends her."

"Mhm. And in that history of conflict, has Silmariën ever been wrong and he, right?"

Artanáro grimaced. "Well, advising someone on the matters of their marriage is never going to go entirely well, especially if you are not close to them."

Galadriel frowned at him. "Silmariën knows Erendis. She likes her, from what she told me. She is close to _her_. Of course she was going to try and intervene, if Meneldur was unable to. Aldarion was acting like a fool."

"It was you who suggested I encourage him to sail East!"

"Yes, but I did not expect he would spent the entirety of his time there!" Galadriel replied exasperatedly, thinking of all she had heard from Artanáro. "He should have delegated the care for his settlements and fortifications to someone else. That is an essential skill in a king. He cannot do everything in person, but there is one thing a king of Men must. His most important responsibility: have capable heirs. Even the regard he owes Erendis notwithstanding, this is not a place in a council, where after he passes away, someone best qualified will take his place. His child will inherit, so he needs to take care to have children, and to ensure that the children are raised for kingship."

"He has a daughter," Artanáro pointed out.

"Yes, one daughter raised out of court, a thin thread to hang his kingdom by. What if she is rejected as a ruler? And Men are fragile. If she perished, who would rule? His sisters? While the lady Almiel is married to is charming, she is rather unlikely to give her any children, and Ailinel has a son who, from what Silmariën tells me, would be even worse as king than Aldarion. So will it be Silmariën's son? The descendants of Earendur? Conflict would arise, conflict at a time when Númenórë cannot afford it. And what kind of education did this daughter have? She grew up in the country, with her mother and a few servants! I am sure Erendis is an admirable woman, but it is impossible to prepare a child for queenship away from court." Galadriel took a breah to say more, but in that moment, Elrond interrupted her.

"Aldarion is coming back," he said, from his place on her right hand. "He will hear you, and the conflict between you will grow sharper."

Galadriel nodded, and quieted her voice. "How can you bear him?" She asked.

"I find it difficult to," he admitted. "I leave dealing with him to Artanáro. After all, he has not been in Armanelos very much. I do not know what will happen now that he is king, and especially after Meneldur passes away. It will become more difficult for me, I believe, to stay here. But still, I gave my word."

"Of course." Galadriel sighed. Once again, she wished to speak more, but after one fleeting look at Aldarion, she merely muttered: "I will go speak with Silmariën."

She took her friend aside to talk. "I am sorry about what happened," she said.

Silmariën smiled and shook her head, the lights of candles catching in The Star on her brow. "Do not be," she said. "This is not unusual in any way. And, well, I suppose I am rather relentless. I refuse to give up on my relations, you see. I know many say it is my inability to deal with not being given queenship." She sighed. "Perhaps it is."

"Nonsense. It is simply the quality that would make you an excellent queen, the responsibility you feel for your people. I know this feeling well. All the foolish kings I have tried to advise..."

Silmariën smiled a little bitterly. "None as foolish as Aldarion, I venture."

Galadriel considered it. It was true that Aldarion had quite a Feanorion flare to him, and thank the Valar, those of her cousins had never truly been kings. "None foolish in quite the same way, no," she said, "but trust me when I say that I quite despaired of Artaresto, and even of my brother sometimes, though in a different way."

"It is fascinating, is it not, that they find so many ways to be wrong. My brother, too, was foolish in a way quite different from his son. And my father, from what I understand, was a decent king in a way quite different from my grandfather."

Galadriel agreed. "There are as many kinds of good kings as there are bad ones, though I do feel that the truly excellent ones are very similar."

"Ah, but how many truly excellent ones have you known?"

"In Middle-Earth, Artanáro and Elros," she replied immediately, "and, while there were differences between them due to their different fates, as kings they were very similar. And even Ingwë, the excellent king I knew in Aman...though he is a very distinct person from these two, as king he shares much with them, I would say. It is hard, of course, to compare, when ruling in Aman is so very different."

Silmariën smiled a little sadly at this. "It must be. I cannot even imagine. Do you know that I regret that I will never see it? The Eldar from there keep coming here from time to time, and...I wish we were allowed, before we die, to as much as catch a glimpse. What evil could it do, so late in our lives? I think I would dearly like to spend my last years in the Blessed Lands."

"I wish you could. You, I believe, would be strong enough to bear it." Galadriel hesitated. "Is death coming soon for you, do you think?"

"Yes. I am beginning to feel the exhaustion already, and Aldarion as king will, I fear, hasten it. Or perhaps more precisely, knowing that he will not listen to my advice, I will feel no responsibility binding me here. Yes, my lady, I believe this is the last time we meet."

Galadriel embraced her, trying to ignore the pain. "Then make time for me in the next few days," she said, "because I wish to spend as much of it with you as I can, before we depart."

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Both Galadriel and Tindómiel were in a melancholy mood as they were returning to Hollin.

"It makes me glad," Tindómiel said as they rode through the Great Forest, "that I never had any claim on being the queen."

"What do you mean?"

"Looking at Aldarion. We are similar in many ways, and the idea of all those limitations to what he wishes he could do that he will have to face now..."

"All this would have been avoided if Silmariën had been made queen," Galadriel pointed out.

"Well, yes. But she had not, and now Aldarion has to bear the burden."

It was amusing, in a way, how completely different Tindómiel's point of view could be. Still… "You are not that very similar to Aldarion, I think," Galadriel insisted. "Far less unruly."

Tindómiel shrugged as she bent down under a low-hanging branch on the road. "Yet I was reluctant to marry too, resenting the shackles I felt it would put on me."

Galadriel frowned at the trees that were getting too close. She would have to speak to the ents about it, at this rate, the road would soon become impassable. "True," she said. "But once you did marry, you had nothing but respect for Quendingoldo."

"Because he has nothing but respect for me, and never thought of trying to curtail me in any way."

"Your journeys do not take you away for years at a time, and you have eternity together."

"Yes, but is it Aldarion's fault that neither is true in his case? He did not choose his passion." Tindómiel shook her head. "To him, ruling is a burden in truth. He should have never became king, and he should have never married. If he had to, though...he should not have married a woman who loved him."

Galadriel frowned at her. "What are you saying?"

"It happens in Númenore, you know. These days more often than ever before, from what I heard during our few days there. People marry for politics, not for love."

"I know they do not feel the Flame, but..."

"That is not what I meant. Though perhaps it plays a part." Tindómiel paused, considering. "For the elves, the line is so clear cut – you either feel the Flame or you do not-"

"Not all marriages are for the Flame-" Galadriel interrupted.

"No," Tindómiel took the word again, "but the majority are, and the rest is often because the two believe they feel it. Among Men...from what I understand, it is much harder to tell the difference between attraction and infatuation and love, and so the borders are less clear, and sometimes the barest hint of sympathy is enough for people to marry when it is politically expedient. Had Aldarion married like that, his daughter could have been raised properly and he could have had more children. He would have felt less chained, and there would have been less unhappiness."

Galadriel thought about this. As much as she disliked the idea of marrying without love, she supposed that if there was true mutual consent, it was not precisely evil. And what Tindómiel said made sense. It was very well reasoned, in fact. "See, that is the difference between you and Aldarion," she said. "Considering this would have meant considering someone else before himself, and that, I fear, he is incapable of."

Tindómiel had to reluctantly agree. "It makes me wonder, you know," she murmured. "Would it have been different had I stayed? Could I perhaps have influenced him? I finally feel happy again in Hollin, like I have found my place for the first time since I fell in love with Quendingoldo. In Lindon, no one ever seemed to know how to treat me. Here, I have a place on your council and all accept that, because I have simply been part of the realm from the start. Now I wonder, had my happiness been paid for by my home's ruin?"

Galadriel reached over the distance between their horses to press her hand. "Do not do this to yourself, beloved. That way lies madness."

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Galadriel did not like leaving Hollin so often, but there was an issue that was long overdue and required her personal attention, so not too long after her visit to Númenórë, she went away again.

Celeborn had visited Lindórinand a few times, and she had sent many additional envoys to Amdír over the years. They were tacitly aware of each other. Still, she needed to see him and speak to him in person if she hoped it would ever become any better.

So Galadriel left Hollin in Celeborn's care and passed through Khazad-dûm alone, staying a guest of its king for several days, before she emerged on the other side and headed to Lindórinand. The trees there were open and friendly, and welcomed her with the ease of a forest long used to elves dwelling in it. She sensed the presence of many minds around her, but even without it, she would have known of them because of the sound of music that drifted to her from many different directions. _The name is well-deserved_ , she thought.

She travelled openly and no guards stopped her, but she was joined by a Silvan escort after she walked some distance. When she tried speaking to them, she found they only knew little Sindarin, and as she did not speak Silvan, she was limited to listening to their songs as they walked with her. She did not mind – the songs were beautiful and she could understand something of them even though she did not know the words. They were cheerful and seemed to speak about freedom of spirit and mind and about a happy life under the trees of this forest. It was not quite Doriath, but there was something relaxing about this realm nevertheless.

When Galadriel finally reached what appeared to be the heart of the realm after a day's walk, she looked curiously around. She had noticed elves in the trees as they passed, but this city was much more like what she knew from Doriath's settlements outside of Thousand Caves: all the elves she saw except for her escort were Sindar, and the houses were built on the ground among the trees, with the nature itself often serving as walls and doors and decoration. These houses always had a very particular kind of beauty, and Amdír's was no exception. She wondered whether it was made to be reminiscent of his family's home in Neldoreth.

She passed through the door to see the king and his son sitting together, their heads bent over some papers. Upon setting eyes on her, Amdír displayed some astonishment. "Galadriel!" he exclaimed.

"Amdír," she replied more sedately. "Didn't you know it was me?"

"No. They only told me an elf who had the air of the West was arriving, so I assumed it'd be a messenger from you. I..." he hesitated. "Please be seated. Do you want something to eat or drink?"

"I wouldn't say no to wine, but what I want to do the most is talk to you."

Admír seemed to deflate upon hearing that, and she felt rather sorry for him. He gestured to his son, and Amroth, with a short nod to Galadriel, left the room to give them privacy.

"You have a beautiful realm," she said.

"Thank you," he returned. "It isn't quite Doriath, and I know it never can be, but we do what we can. How is Hollin?"

"Very well. Blooming, I'd say. You should come to visit some time."

He avoided her eyes. She sighed. "I might remember the day you were born, Amdír, but that doesn't mean you get away with acting like a child around me forever. I never confronted you about any of it because I respected your pain and I didn't want to stir up trouble. But it's been hundreds of years, and we're both rulers now. We have to solve this between us."

This time, he sighed, but he nodded slowly. Rising, he walked to one of the windows and pulled the flowers there aside to look out at his city. "I'm sorry," he said.

"For what?" She asked mercilessly.

"For...giving in to Oropher, I suppose. For not speaking against it. For even agreeing with him, in my more bitter moments." He paused. "I know my mother was there with you that day, in the room you saved Elwing from."

"Your mother chose to attempt to save the princes, Amdír."

"I've been told, yes. Surely you see that doesn't help in not blaming you?"

"If you're waiting for me to apologize for that, you'll be waiting a long time."

He sighed again. "You wandered with the sons of Feanor through the wilderness for years after the fall of New Havens," he said then. "Why didn't you kill them?"

"Amdír!" She cried, outraged.

"Wouldn't it have been a just punishment?"

"There can be no justice without a trial. Besides, they were my kin."

He shook his head despondently. "It's as I thought."

She had enough of his self-pity. "And what did you expect," she asked, "that I'd crawl on the floor in front of you, even though it was you who maligned my name in New Havens? Maedhros and Maglor did terrible crimes, Maedhros especially, but they also did many great deeds before that, and many acts of kindness. Most of their lives in Middle-Earth, both were genuinely ashamed of the bad things they've done. It was only towards the end that the oath made them mad. I don't justify what they did, and I never would, but surely you remember that Lord Eönwë himself forbid to slay them, at the end."

"You didn't know that when you had the chance."

"My sense of right and wrong didn't disappear because I was hurt."

"You! How were you hurt? You got to wear the Silmaril, didn't you, and there was no one left to prevent you from doing whatever you wished, because they were all very conveniently dead! While you lost no one dear to you!"

Galadriel laughed. "It's refreshing," she said, "to finally hear the accusations to my face."

"And is any of them false?"

"All of them are, but you are hardly going to believe it just because I say so. It's enlightening to know how much your apologies are worth."

He reeled back as if slapped, then his shoulders slumped. "I'm sorry," he said, then he chuckled without mirth. "Which is probably the most idiotic response to your previous sentence I could have uttered. It's still frank. I...know these things are not true, not truly. What I really blame you for is...you could have saved her. You know you could have. You could have convinced her not to go."

"Amdír, I loved the young princes like my own. They were closer to me than Elwing was, back then. Why would I have tried to stop your mother? I didn't know she'd die."

"You knew it was dangerous!"

"Not how dangerous."

"Oh, truly? I know about the visions you had!"

"It was only visions of the sons of Feanor attacking, no the end of the battle," Galadriel explained patiently, very much reminded of her discussion with Erestor. "I had a...bad feeling about it, yes, but no certainty."

"Didn't you? You always seemed to put complete trust in your visions."

"Because they always come true when they are clear, but that doesn't mean I don't hope otherwise when it's only a feeling. I steer the people I'm responsible for according to these visions, and I steer myself according to it because I gave a promise, a long time ago, to the one who was closest to my heart. But if there is someone, a grown elf, doing what I desire I could do...how can I stop them? Don't think that I didn't consider giving Elwing to Midhel and running for the princes myself."

"Why didn't you, then?"

"Because of that promise I gave, and because I knew that if the escape was to be successful, you needed me." She shook her head. "Seeing the future isn't a blessing, Amdír."

"Yet you wouldn't give up that gift, would you?"

"No, for it allowed me to save many through the years, though not as many as I'd have wished. But it's still a burden, don't be mistaken. Especially if you aren't believed." She sighed. "I warned Dior that day, I asked him to leave the princes with me. He refused. If my vision then had been clearer and more certain...it'd have been the biggest temptation to bend someone to my will I've ever faced."

"You mean you might't have done it? Not even to save innocent children? How...how can you say that?"

Galadriel, suddenly feeling very tired, looked outside into the city as well. "I had a talk much like this with Rodnor after the fall of Nargothrond," she said. "Less accusatory, of course, because he loves me." She said it without bitterness or anger, but Amdír still flinched. Galadriel ignored him and continued: "He found it difficult to accept that I wouldn't...convince Túrin to give up and let us destroy the bridge that ended up being the source of the city's downfall. I'll tell you the same I told him: if we believed that after death, eternal darkness awaits us, then yes, it would be worth it to take any means to save the lives of but one elf. But we don't. We pass into the realms of Mandos and from those, we rise again, and I'd never take away another's will only to spare someone a stay in Námo's house. Not even to spare their loved ones the pain, because the evil I'd cause by such a deed would be much greater."

Andír stared at her for a moment, then collapsed into a chair by the window and hid his face in his hands. "I'm sorry," he muttered. "I know I'm saying that frequently today, but I swear I always mean it. It's just...hard to see clearly through the pain."

"I know it is. You said I lost no one dear to me, and while that isn't true, I do admit that my bonds of love to those who died there that day were not as strong as yours. But I have other dead I sorely miss, and if I though there was anyone who could have prevented my uncle riding to his death, I'd find it very hard to forgive them as well that they didn't." Here, she gave him a hard look. "But such things should stay in the privacy of your mind, as long as you know them to be unjust and born of pain."

"I know, and I believe they would have, but...and I know this sounds childish...once Oropher voiced them, I couldn't entirely resist."

Galadriel sighed. "How is he?"

"Not well. I feel like I betrayed him, too, by leaving, but I couldn't bear it. I felt that instead of helping him, he was dragging me down with him, into his darkness."

"Why doesn't he sail?"

"Thranduil isn't ready."

Galadriel shook her head. "From what you say, sailing would be the best thing he could do for his son."

"Don't say that to him if you ever want him to speak to you again."

"I don't know that I particularly do." She paused. "Celeborn will come to visit you again in time, and he might go on to see Oropher too. I won't as much as attempt any such thing."

"I'm not certain Celeborn will have much success. Oropher sees him as a traitor."

"I know, but we have to try. If only for Thranduil."

There was a short silence, then Galadriel turned to the second main reason of her journey. "Have you heard any more news from the East?" She asked.

"Our strategy is working. Your strategy, I should say. Ever since the Numenorean raids joined our harassment from the north, we're successfully pushing him back and blocking him at every turn."

"Yes, I've heard the same. The Ents, also, say that the land down south is slowly becoming freer again."

"Do you believe we acted soon enough, then?"

"For what? Gorthaur is hardly defeated. It does seem we can hold him back for some time, though. A century, two? Who's to know. But if we continue our efforts, we might manage to contain him, and even keep pushing him back long enough that we'll have the numbers for a direct attack. That is the most we can hope for."

"And then what? If we defeat his armies?"

"Then," Galadriel said, "Gildor and I, along with the other elves from the West, will pay him a visit. We both have a personal bone to pick."

"Gildor…?"

"For one, my brother was his king and he loved him dearly. But more importantly, Gildor's father died in Tol-in-Gaurhoth, by Finrod's side. Yes, he would dearly love to see Gorthaur in person...I can only hope that if we go there, we won't face the same fate they did."

Alarmed, Amdír asked: "You don't know if you're strong enough?"

"No. But what can I do? This is our only chance."

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There was a pleasant surprise waiting for Galadriel upon her return to Hollin. Sarnel's mind seemed to twist away from her touch, and worried, Galadriel asked her niece to come to her chambers that evening and prepared some good wine.

"Has something happened while I was not here, beloved?" She asked.

To her astonishment, a pink tinge appeared on Sarnel's cheek, something she did not remember ever seeing before. Galadriel smiled, suddenly understanding. "Have you felt the Flame?" She asked.

"I...yes, I believe so."

"Well, then, who is the blessed one? Are you perhaps worried that I will not approve, is that why you were unwilling to tell me?"

"I am not certain." She hesitated. "It is Tyelperinquar."

Galadriel's smile became that much brighter. "That is wonderful news!" Truly, it was the best kind. She had been hoping for love for both of them for a long time. She rose to embrace Sarnel, and only after sitting back down, she asked: "Why did you doubt my approval?"

"Well...there is that quarrel between you in the past, and..."

Galadriel shook her head. "As you say, that is in the past. Has my making him my councillor not reassured you of my forgiveness?"

Sarnel sighed. "It's not I who needs reassurance. His guilt is not so easily quieted, I feel. He tends to...dwell. Keeps trying to think of ways to make up for it. I believe that nowadays, that is his driving motivation behind the hours he spends in the forge."

"Oh, yes, his belief that that is the only place where he is truly useful. Well, let him know that if he makes you happy – more happy than you were until now – I will certainly consider it even more useful."

Sarnel smiled slightly. "We are not only worried about you," she admitted after a moment. "There is also my father. Mother was part of those things he used to believe, and..." she trailed off, clearly unwilling to discuss the matter in detail.

Galadriel could understand why perfectly. She did not like remembering it either. "Send him to me," she said, "I will speak to him. It seems his mind needs to be put at ease. We will celebrate this properly some other day."

Sarnel obediently departed, and the Nolde did not have to wait long for her cousin to arrive. "Take a seat, Tyelperinquar. I hear congratulations are in order."

He smiled, a little hesitantly: "Thank you, my lady."

"I also hear something about your worries, and I wish to lay them to rest. I am very happy for both of you. Not many things could make me more so. As for Artanáro, he will not hold what you did against you, not when he knows you regret it and that Celeborn and I, as well as Oreth, have forgiven you. One mistake does not erase all the other praiseworthy things you did."

Tyelperinquar sighed. "But that is just it. Were there any? Apart from my work in the forge, what have I ever done that was truly good, let alone great? And even my jewellery will not exactly become something tales are told about. I am not worthy."

"Worthiness does not require greatness. Goodness is enough."

"I do not have much of that either. Some of the things I did and said in the past – even apart from what I did to you – make me cringe."

She smiled. "It is a good thing you did not know me when I was young," she said, "you would be completely repulsed. My desire to have a kingdom of my own directly contributed to people dying in the Ice. Artanáro knows this about me, and he knows some things about himself, too. He knows that how he treated his father was not always beyond reproach, though I would rather you did not tell him I said that."

Tyelperinquar smiled again. "Do not fear, Aunt. You have tried to ease my burden, and that would have been a poor reward."

"Mind you," she added, "I am still not saying you have easy work before you. I think Artanáro hoped his daughter would return to him in a century or two. This marriage would seal her absence. But if you wait a few years, I will gladly go with you and do what I can to convince the king that my Chief Commander is absolutely indispensable here."

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AN: Alatáriel is Qenyan translation of Galadriel and here I assume it would have been Galadriel's official royal name.

Lindórinand – Vale of the Land of Singers.


	49. Marriage

**Chapter 4** **9** **:** **Marriage**

 _Year 990 of the Second Age, Hollin_

"So we are...reasonably certain we are safe now?" Celeborn tried to assure himself.

"As safe as we can be," Galadriel amended.

"Sauron is still out there," Sarnel added, mostly for the benefit of the rest of the council rather than for Celeborn, "but our forces combined with Aldarion's did manage to limit his powers and possibilities enough that, as long as we stay vigilant, we do not have to fear for our immediate safety. It would be wise to start preparing our army as well as we can for the decisive attack."

"The dwarves gave me some ideas," Tyelperinquar said, "about improving our armour and weapons, and of course we will try to make as many mithril pieces we can."

He frowned as he said the last, and Galadriel turned to him in question. "What is it?"

He sighed. "It is a constant argument with the current king of Khazad-dûm," he said. "How much mithril should be devoted to our own defence, and how much should go to trade. King Durin does not feel the danger as so imminent, I am afraid."

"Or rather, he sees the possible profit as more imminent," Tavoron drawled.

Galadriel sighed. She had placed Tavoron on her council because he was widely respected among the more conservative of the Sindar, the circles she suspected followed her to Hollin chiefly because of their prejudice against the Select. It was meant as a peace offering, but she never stopped regretting it since. He was contrary to anything to do with dwarves, he was contrary to anything Feliel suggested, he was, in general, just contrary and divisive. She wished she could replace him without offending hundreds of her people. _The rest of the council is filled with your favourites_ , she told herself. _Surely you can tolerate this one exception?_ "The dwarves have a good reason to be less afraid of war than we do," she said. "Their kingdom is much easier to defend. I will speak to the king about it when next I visit Khazad-dûm. He is reasonable, and I am sure he will be open to discussion."

"I have some difficulty imagining that," Tavoron muttered. Even Celeborn looked doubtful, and Galadriel gave him an exasperated look.

"I might have something for you to bargain with," Tyelperinquar said musingly. "I have been experimenting with a new kind of mixture, one that could be used for secret writings and codes, as well as simple decoration. I believe it is almost ready."

"What kind of mixture?"

"Well, it is a mix of mithril in an acidic base that-"

Celeborn raised his hand. "No details, please."

Tyelperinquar grinned a little. "Very well. At any rate, the effect is that the writing done with this mixture is only seen in the light of stars. We have also been working on an improved mechanism for passwords and codes with Narvi, and I believe these two things could be combined. I could, perhaps, do things like create an offensive trap reacting to the name of Sauron, or to black speech. I believe the dwarves would be interested in this technology. Narvi certainly looked like he would give his right arm for it when I merely hinted as to its possibilities."

Galadriel nodded. "I can imagine so, yes. I will mention it to King Durin. This might just be the bargaining chip we needed to tip the balance. Is there any other matter?"

No one on the council had anything, and so Galadriel dismissed them and retreated to her own chambers with Celeborn at her side. She poured wine to them both and they sat at the terrace, overlooking their realm. It truly did seem like they would have safety for at least a few centuries, enough to prepare the final strike.

Celeborn took a deep breath, and when Galadriel turned to him, gave her a serious look. "My love," he said, "as you said, we are as safe as we can be, now. I do not want to push you, and yet..."

She nodded. She had been expecting this. "Yes," she agreed, "I know. I promised, and I'll deliver on that promise. We'll have a child. Only...well, only wait until after Sarnel's wedding, please, and once that excitement is over, I'll gladly open myself to that possibility."

He reached out to caress her arms. "I just feel like you're only doing this to please me, love, and..."

"And what? It doesn't mean it's wrong. You want a child, I don't, but I promised you we'll have one. I can hardly change my mind now without it being a betrayal, can I? And I'm sure that once the child comes into being, I'll love it as much as you will. It's only that I don't...feel it missing from my life, now. But I got my kingdom, you have a right to your child."

He pressed her hands, but he still looked troubled.

For herself, Galadriel felt conflicted. She knew, on some level, that she was tarrying. She was inventing reasons to postpone motherhood, which seemed unfair to Celeborn, and yet...he was right. She was the one who would pay the highest price for it, so surely she had the right to some reluctance? If there had been no threat of Sauron, perhaps she would have asked him to wait a few centuries still, in the hope that her wishes would change, a hope she knew was very unlikely to come true. But as it was...just as Sauron had served as an excuse a century ago, he now served as a catalyst. The safety would not be forever, and she did not wish for her child to grow up in the middle of a war. No, she told herself firmly. Sarnel's wedding, and then I will take care of all other matters – visit Númenórë and Lindon, and Lindórinand and Hadhodrond, to give myself time to stay here afterwards...and once this is done, I will have a child. No more excuses.

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Sarnel pressed Galadriel's hand in excitement. "They are coming!"

Galadriel smiled at this atypical enthusiasm from the princess. But truth be told, there was some cause for excitement in this case, for not since her coronation had Hollin had so many noble visitors. The High King and Queen were coming, along with their older daughter and her family, and with them was Elrond and Lord Laurefindil. Out of those most esteemed in Lindon, only Lord Ciryatan and Ambë stayed behind, because though they were regretful about it, someone had to keep watch over the realm.

The discussion about where the wedding should take place had been a long one. Artanáro wished, naturally enough, to marry his daughter from his own house, but Sarnel was almost as headstrong as her aunt and she insisted she wished to be wed in Hollin, in honour of its queen and the position she held at court. After many long talks with both his daughter and Galadriel, Artanáro finally gave in.

Now the procession appeared at the edge of the valley, and Galadriel and Sarnel rode to meet it. "I am afraid," Sarnel said on the way, "that my sister will try to change my mind again."

Galadriel raised her eyebrows. "On the eve of your wedding?"

"You underestimate her stubbornness."

"Does Maewel...have a reason to dislike Tyelperinquar?" Galadriel did not know how better to ask whether she knew about the beliefs he used to held about Oreth, without spelling the unpleasant reality out.

Sarnel frowned at the reminder of that. "Oh no. Not as far as I know, anyway. She never said anything. I think it is not even about Tyelperinquar, not truly. Maewel just hoped I would come back to Lindon."

"Well, that is touching, is it not? She does not like being parted from you."

"I suppose. But I would appreciate it more if she actually respected what I want. It is not as if I try to convince her to move to Hollin. It is...tiring."

Galadriel smiled encouragingly. "I have no fear about your ability to withstand her attempts."

"Of course, but it will make me feel guilty nevertheless. Why can she live a life that is so perfectly pleasing to our parents, and I cannot?"

The queen shook her head. "Do not believe that you are displeasing your father, beloved. He worries about you and misses you, but he is very proud of you. Perhaps he neglects to tell you as often as you wish he did, for fear of encouraging you too much, but it is still true."

"Not so my mother."

Galadriel gave her a short look and slowed her horse to gain more time to talk. "I will not lie to you, so why do you ask me this? You know very well your mother does not understand you, as much as she loves you. Yes, it is inconceivable to her that you would wish to leave the sea and the calm, quiet life you had in Lindon. Do not be bitter about it, instead, be thankful you have at least one parent who does understand. It is your father for you, and her mother for your sister."

"It is both of my parents for my sister."

Galadriel gave chuckled drily at the idea. "Your father loves her dearly, and is glad she stays close to him, but he does not truly understand her, do not be mistaken."

Sarnel gave her a surprised look at this. "Why do you think so? That seems very strange to me – he understands mother, does he not, and Maewel is so much like her."

"Understanding between two that are married is of a strange kind." A small smile was playing around Galadriel's lips. "You will see it fully once you marry Tyelperinquar, but I expect you know some of it already. They become part of each other, always in the other's mind, and so they know the other intimately, and yet most couples I know are very unlike each other, at least in some ways. Very often, you understand your spouse as you understand something foreign that you learned to know well, but you understand your friends as you understand something intimately familiar and close to you."

"But why could you not get to know someone else so foreign, apart from your spouse, well enough to truly understand them?"

"Perhaps because no bond but the marriage one is enough to make it possible? I do not know the secrets of The One's mind, beloved, I only speak from experience."

"Only?" Sarnel laughed. "I would be hard pressed to find someone more experienced than you in the whole of Middle-Earth."

"There are some among the Sindar who are much older than me. Lord Ciryatan foremost among them."

"Older, yes, but more experienced? You have lived through so much, Aunt..."

 _Yes_ , Galadriel thought, _I have. But I am not so certain it is a reason for admiration._

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It was not a very surprising realization for Galadriel that she was Tyelperinquar's closest relation in Middle-Earth, but it was more difficult to come to terms with the fact that he was, after Artanáro, her closest relation as well. So many were gone...

But this was not the time to dwell on it, and so Galadriel turned her mind to the cheerful occasion at hand as she watched the bridal party approach from the edge of the valley. The time they had picked was truly perfect, all of the flowers of Hollin in bloom, the sky bright blue, and the birds of the valley singing the wedding song for the bride and groom. Sarnel looked beautiful, too. Her dress was much like her: simple yet elegant, made in white and grey to make her look like a beautiful creature of pure light, her silver hair shining in the sun. It was fashioned into braids vaguely reminiscent of the warrior ones, thus honouring her profession. Tyelperinquar made her jewels of platinum and diamonds to go with the dress, glittering brightly in the sun. There was no Star crowning those jewels, though, and realizing this always made Galadriel feel slight discomfort. Of course, Sarnel herself had assured her husband-to-be she did not need one. She was not one to love jewels overmuch, and while she admired it in Galadriel's crown, she said it would have been wasted on her. And it was true that the simplicity of the cut Tyelperinquar chose for her jewels suited her very well.

It was also true, however, that Tyelperinquar would have likely found it very hard to make another one, and so Galadriel sometimes wondered whether Sarnel knew that and if that was why she said what she said, and whether Tyelperinquar felt guilty about it. When she asked him, though, he denied it, and when she offered to take the Star of Hollin from her crown to give it to his wife, he had sharply refused. Galadriel did not see what else she could do.

She put those thoughts away as she walked behind him to welcome the bridal party. Instead, melancholy intruded as she felt a touch of sadness upon looking at him in his dark blue clothes. Attempting to claim his Noldorin heritage without associating with his father, Tyelperinquar left out the Feanorion red and kept only to blue and the silver star in his official robes, and seeing him like that made Galadriel remember Findekáno, and Turukáno as well, something she did more rarely. But he had looked equally handsome on his wedding day, ages ago in Aman. _Stop_ , she told herself firmly. _This is a day for joy._

She took Tyelperinquar's hand and put it in Sarnel's, held by her father – another memory surfaced, this time of Artaresto's wedding, where the parental roles have been switched too. That had been a happy time as well, in spite of the tragedy that followed. It was important, she thought, not to forget the good for the tragedy that came afterwards. She was very happy now, yes, but she missed her loved ones, and it would not do to forget the happy years with them just because they were gone. The memory of them should not inspire sadness.

Tyelperinquar and Sarnel said their vows, and as at every wedding, Galadriel remembered her own and pressed Celeborn's hand in happy memory. He returned the gesture, giving her a small smile before returning his gaze to the newly-weds.

Artanáro stepped out then, along with Galadriel, to pronounce them husband and wife. She had wanted to cede to honour solely to him, as the High King, but he had argued that since the wedding was taking place in her realm, he could not usurp it. So it ended up with a compromise, one that she suspected pleased the newly-weds as well.

When the officialities were done, and a song was sung in praise of all the Valar, Galadriel turned to Sarnel to wish her well and embrace her. Next, she turned to Tyelperinquar, at whom she looked seriously. "You know how much I care about Sarnel," she said. "Do your best."

"And will you forgive me," he replied cheekily, "if I do not do my best because of you, but because of her?"

"That would be even better," Galadriel returned with a laugh, glad to see him in such a free mood.

After well-wishing was over, the guests drifted to the many tables laden with the best foods to be found in Middle-Earth. Galadriel's official seat was between Tyelperinquar and Celeborn, but it did not take long for all to mix and sit where they willed to even as some headed directly to the dance floor. Soon, Galadriel found herself there with Lord Laurefindil. "How go things in Lindon?" She asked as they moved with grace among the other dancers.

"I am sure you have been informed by the king already, my lady," he replied.

"Yes, but then, he speaks of the things that are most important to him – and to the realm. You might offer a different perspective."

"Well, I can tell you that the army is doing reasonably well – as well as can be expected under the circumstances, I suppose. It is a little hard to motivate the soldiers, since we have not made the seriousness of the threat in the East public, but apart from that, they train hard and are decent fighters." He sighed. "It is, of course, difficult for me not to compare them to the Guard of Ondolindë, but...that is fruitless. I do not have a single elf from the West in my ranks."

"Not a single one?"

"No. They do not wish to join. I trust that if we were in true danger, they would fight, but...well. Regular army with scheduled trainings and patrols is something else entirely."

Galadriel nodded. "And what about your more private matters?" She asked. "How is life with Erestor continuing?"

He chuckled. "Being with him on the council is...interesting. You know, I suppose, that we do not always agree-"

"Indeed. It seems to me you are one of the many couples where the One put his Flame into two of very different nature."

"And opinions! I can now personally attest that the Flame is no barrier to almost boundless irritation."

Galadriel laughed. "I always imagined," she said, "that being boundlessly irritating was one of Erestor's main attractions, for you."

"Perhaps you are right," Lord Laurefindil admitted, "but then, the council needs to get things done occasionally, too, and our endless arguments do not always help that. I think the king is beginning to suspect we are a little self-indulgent in them."

"And are you?"

He only laughed.

After the dance ended, he accompanied her to the table, where Galadriel sat down next to Tindómiel. "You look a little...morose," she observed. She did not like seeing that. Tindómiel was happier and livelier in Hollin than she had been in Lindon, and mindful of her promise to Elros, Galadriel dreaded any setback.

"I would say," Tindómiel agreed with emphasis that was reassuring. "There are some of Quendingoldo's relations among Artanáro's escort, and, well..."

"The unpleasant ones?"

"Yes. The ones who were part of the reason why I wished to go to Hollin. You would think that being a king's daughter and kin to both you and Artanáro would make me good enough, but no, clearly, to some, nothing can ever wash away the taint of Second born blood. What do you think that second cousin twice removed or whatever she is bothered me about?"

"Children?" Galadriel asked, reaching for the jar of wine that stood on the table to replenish their glasses, sensing it would be needed.

"Yes! I do not understand why people cannot mind their own business. _I had hoped that you had merely neglected to notify us of the birth_ , she mimicked, _but I see the omission goes deeper_. As if Quendingoldo desperately longed for children and I was malevolently withholding them from him!"

Galadriel shifted uncomfortably in her chair at this statement. "So I take it neither of you have changed your mind, then?" She said.

"No! Neither he nor I want children, so I really do not see why we should have them."

"It would certainly be foolish under such circumstances. Did you tell her so?"

"Many times, in fact, even while still in Lindon. I am just so tired of this already. 'The purpose of the Flame is that the One intends us to have children', she says. What is she, a Doriath Sinda?"

"Now, now, no need to be offensive. You know Celeborn would never tell you anything of the sort," Galadriel chided even as she remembered, with even more discomfort, Celeborn telling _her_ precisely that some centuries ago.

"No," Tindómiel replied, "but I would not put it past Tavoron. He seems he could be best friends with this...well. No matter. I apologize. I am just so...well, so angry. Do people bother you with the same thing?"

Galadriel hesitated for the smallest of moments. "Not often," she said then. "There are not enough left who would really dare."

Tindómiel laughed at that. "That must be useful," she said. "I should learn to make people scared of me as well."

"You are scary enough – but Quendingoldo's cousin _is_ hundreds of years older than you. That gives her distinct advantage." Galadriel smiled. "I can talk to her if you want me to."

"No, I do not wish to make it seem like I cannot fight my own battles. I will simply partake of wine for a moment, to calm myself. Normally I would rant at Quendingoldo, but you know that Erestor came with Laurefindil and he is deep in a discussion about something with his friend. I do not wish to disturb him."

"Of course." Galadriel fell silent, watching Tindómiel drink wine. _Yes,_ she said to herself, _when neither of them wants children, it would be foolishness. But in my case, it is an obligation._

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Later in the evening, she found Artanáro. "How are you holding up?" She asked him with a smile.

"I would describe my feelings as extremely mixed," he returned jokingly, but then added in a serious tone: "Of course I am very happy for her."

"I know you are. I, as well."

"You must be very happy for more than that reason today," he replied. "The feast is magnificent, the music is enchanting and the city is beautiful. Under your advice and indirect leadership, we have managed to gradually push Sauron back-"

"Thanks very much also to your daughter's planning," Galadriel pointed out.

"Yes, but still. You have achieved everything you have wanted."

A slight shiver ran through Galadriel, like a first hint of a premonition. It seemed almost blasphemous to say so. But it was also true. "I am very happy," she conceded. "The realm blooms. Our relations with Amdír are back to being cordial-"

"Not enough to come here, I can see."

"To Curufinwë's son's wedding? There are limits to every forgiveness."

"He is also his cousin."

"Yes, but still. You know they never got on very well. I did not expect him here, and neither did Tyelperinquar. But we visit each other often, and Oropher has actually deigned to grant Celeborn an audience the last few times he appeared in Greenwood. And our relations with the dwarves, too, are as good as can be."

Artanáro shook his head. "One thing I will never understand," he muttered.

"I probably could not either, if I had not spent those years with Nelyafinwë and Macalaurë. It taught me something about forgiveness. And working together truly is beneficial – have you seen some of the things Tyelperinquar makes with them?"

"Not yet, but he promised to show us a wondrous door."

A small smiled played around Galadriel's mouth. "Mhm. Should have done it before the wedding. As it is, you will have to wait quite a time to see it."

"I tried to hint as much to him, but I do not believe he understood."

"No – one never can, can one, before the wedding night?"

Artanáro smiled in response. "Well, you have to admit it is never discussed in any kind of detail, so how are they supposed to know, poor souls?"

"Do you wonder at this? Do _you_ have words to describe lying with your wife?"

"No – and I do not believe I would ever publicly use them even if I did."

"The married bards never do," she agreed.

Elrond joined them in this moment, and Galadriel sought to change the topic. "I hope," she said, "that you will find some time to look over our library while you are here."

"Why – do you believe you have books I do not know?"

"Certainly, for Quendingoldo managed to somehow convince some of our craftsmen to allow for the process of their work to be written down, but probably not any you would be interested in, I grant you that. But perhaps you could determine which volumes are sorely lacking here, and send us copies from Caras Aear."

Elrond gave her an amused look. "Surely you can do it just as well yourself, Aunt."

"Yes, but why when I have you here?" She teased in response, but then added: "You know you have a better idea what volumes are to be found in the Lindon library. I know what stories are missing, what subjects, but you will know what books."

Elrond slowly nodded his agreement.

"What news from Númenórë?" Galadriel asked as Artanáro excused himself for a moment.

Elrond frowned. "Not good. Queen Erendis died a few years ago...it seems by drowning. By...drowning herself."

Galadriel's eyes widened. "But that is terrible! Why?"

"Despair," Elrond said shortly, and shook his head. "It was just as Aldarion was returning from another voyage. He is...well, his kingship is going about as badly as we have expected it would."

Galadriel nodded. "I saw him recently, have I not told you? It might," she swallowed at the thought, "have actually been on the journey upon the return from which his wife drowned. I was in the Great Forest to see the Ents, and I had some complains about trees being cut down in the south by people coming from the West, so I went there. It turned out he was rebuilding and expanding his havens there, and he was using the trees from the Great Forest without any discrimination." She shook her head. "It took a very long time to even explain to him who Ents were, and why he had to respect them. He was extremely reluctant, and I feared it would take one of his man being hurt by them to understand. In the end, he saw reason and some form of agreement was reached. I hope he will follow it. I worry about him a little: the trees there are not friendly, and the Ents have little reason to have sympathy for him. But I was surprised to see him there. I had hoped that after becoming king, he would limit his sailing to Lindon."

Elrond shook his head. "He will never limit his sailing in any way, I fear. He is a great mariner and would be a great general, I trust, but as king… I see him more often in Middle-Earth than when I go to Númenórë, and while he, personally, does much good for Middle-Earth, he is not suited to directing anything. He cannot choose good men and delegate responsibility, he wants to do everything in person. I am beginning to wish I had listened to you when you urged me to support Silmariën's claim." He chuckled humourlessly. "I should have known you would be right in the end. Why do I even bother?"

Galadriel gave him a look. "You know I find no joy in it."

"Yes, and I apologize. At any rate, my opposition seems even more absurd at the moment, for Aldarion only has the one daughter, as you know, and from what he told me, he intends to change the laws to make her Queen. If the same had been done two generations ago, we could have avoided this whole mess...now I fear a grim future for Númenórë. Certainly I am losing my influence there. As I said, Aldarion is barely present and his daughter does not care for me. She is looking for a husband at this point in time, but as much as I tried to help her in this, she does not listen to any advice and firmly believes she knows best. The death of her mother, too, traumatized her deeply. There is little positive influence left in court since Silmariën's death. Her son, of course, is a just and honourable man, but he lives in Andúnië and rarely ever comes to the capital – for understandable reasons, given the atmosphere there. Even I go there less often that I used to now, only once every few years...with Aldarion coming to Middle-Earth so often, it's not as crucial anymore, and I have little personal reason to."

Artanáro came back at this moment, and said: "I sense you are badmouthing my friend Aldarion! I cannot in good conscience let that pass."

Galadriel raised her eyebrow at him, and he smiled. "Oh very well, I concede that he should never have become king. But he is good in many other things he does. And it reminds me – I have a gift for you, from him," he added, turning to Galadriel.

"Truly?" The Queen raised a sceptical brow. She was quite certain Aldarion loathed her.

"Well, not exactly. It was a gift to me, actually, but...he brought me mellyrn seeds from Númenórë. They do not, however, grow in Lindon. I had hoped they might do better by the mountains. Not that I know much about it, but the soil should be better for this here, should it not?"

Mellyrn? Galadriel stared, scarcely daring to believe it. She had not seen those trees outside of Aman or Númenórë, and her heart ached at the mere thought of walking among them again, in her realm, somewhere where she could stay, where they would not cause her to feel regret for having to abandon them again soon.

But she should not be too hopeful – not everything that grew in the West could flourish in Middle-Earth. So aloud, she said: "Probably. I shall ask Celeborn." She smiled. "But if you hoped this gift would make me think more kindly about Aldarion, you should not have been so truthful."

Artanáro smiled. "But he is a good man," he insisted.

"The tale of his marriage belies your words."

"That is the other thing he never should have done – married Erendis."

Galadriel thought of Tindómiel, and what she had said. Even those who loved Aldarion seemed to agree on this. However, Elrond, at Artanáro's side, made a soft sound that made the High King turn to him. "You do not agree?" He questioned.

"No, I do. It is only...it is not easy for the Second born, having no Flame of the One as we do."

There was a mournful silence as they all remembered Elros' grief and worry over his children.

"Come, why are we talking of failed marriages now of all days?" Artanáro asked then. "Let us go and join the dance and music. By daughter just married an elf she loves, and we are in the beautiful, blooming realm of Hollin during its noontide, and there is nothing but joy and glory around us, all centered around its perfect Queen! Let us drink to her health!"

But as Galadriel drank and rose to follow them to the dance floor, she felt another small echo of a premonition. For she remembered the noontide of Valinor, and she remembered, too, what came after.

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AN: Yes, I am saying that elves do not have porn. Shocking, I know. But porn, even written porn, in a world where everyone only ever sleeps with their spouse just seems weird. Maybe private smutty poetry, only for one's partner's eyes/ears?

Boundless irritation as an attraction is a shout-out to Flawed and Fair, one of the best fanfictions in the history of mankind.


	50. Mother

AN: Trigger warning: if you ever miscarried a child, experienced child death or had other pregnancy/birth related issues, or even if this is a sensitive topic for you...this might be a chapter to skip, or perhaps the part until the first break at least. There's no miscarriage or child death here, but the material covered in the first part is nevertheless very heavy, and related to that.

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 **Chapter 50: Mother**

 _Year 1075 of the Second Age, Hollin_

Today, the first Passing of the Sceptre of Númenórë at which Galadriel would not be present was taking place. And it was made more ironic by the fact that the sceptre would pass to the island's first ruling Queen.

Galadriel had visited the island only a few times since the founding of Hollin, for the royal weddings and funerals and when Aldarion received the sceptre. There was no royal household to speak of now, no family in Armenelos where she would be welcome as there used to be. Aldarion's sisters were friendly enough to her in a distant sort of way, but they lived away from the capital with their partners. She could not even go there as an advisor, because Aldarion never grew any wiser and for the entirety of his rule listened to no one except, perhaps, for Artanáro. Even Elrond struggled to keep his steady support of the royal line, and his visits were now only as frequent as hers had been after Elros' death. "I know I gave my word to help them," he said when he last spoke to her about it, "but the futility of trying wears me out so much..."

"Then limit yourself to Andúnië," Galadriel had suggested.

He shook his head. "Once I am there, I cannot help but try and stop by in the capital...and then, I regret it painfully."

Galadriel herself had last been there a few decades ago, and she only spent two days in the capital. Two days were enough to assure herself that Ancalimë was dangerously unstable and needed help, not queenship, but that she would not accept it; and that her son was scarcely better. She recognized the situation was beyond anything she could help with and departed to Andúnië instead, where Silmariën's son gave her a warm welcome and where she could remember her friend in peace and tell stories about her to her grandchildren and great-grandchildren.

After this visit, Galadriel for her part decided that the kingdom of Men would have to do without her. It was too far to travel these days, and she had too much to do in her own realm to even visit Lindon more often than every few years. Travelling to Númenórë was simply not worth it under these circumstances. But still, on this day, her mind was with the new Queen of Men, and on how she would be accepted by her subjects. It required a thousand years of experience with her leading them in various ways for the elves to accept that Galadriel could wear a crown. Would the new human queen have it easier? Presumably so, for the Nolde still remembered Haleth. It just seemed unfortunate that the first queen would also be, in all likelihood, such a bad ruler.

Galadriel personally had other matters on her mind, and the true reason she did not journey to Númenórë even for a Passing. After so many years of tarrying, she finally found the strength to stop the excuses, grant Celeborn's wish and agree to conceiving a child. She herself still felt no desire in that way: even beyond the sacrifice that would be required of her and which she did not expect to enjoy giving, she would not have. Her realm was her child, and apart from that, there were Artanáro and Elrond, and all those she had lost: Elros and Elwing and Eluréd and Elurín. But she knew that Celeborn never had such a strong bond with any of them, except perhaps for the Doriath princes who died so soon, and she understood his desire for a child of his own, and felt she could not rightly refuse him.

So now, she was with child. And from the moment she knew it, she also knew why Ohtarwen never wanted another child, and she also knew that she had made a terrible mistake. For however many things could be said about her, one was certain: she was no Míriel.

She was no Míriel, and so when she felt the child drawing on her own powers, she felt no compulsion to give it more – and in fact, the first time she felt it, the most terrible instinct ran through her: to cut it off.

She was horrified beyond words, and if she had any thoughts left for it, she would have been glad that she was alone in her chambers at that moment, for she collapsed to the floor in silent terror. She knew what it would have meant, had she followed that instinct. The child within her depended on her strength to sustain it. Had she cut it off, it would have died.

Her eyes stared, unseeing, outside hew windows, the pain and guilt wrecking her like scarcely before. _Am I monster?_ She wondered. It was strange enough that she did not desire a child, but to even have such a thought pass through her head was impossible, inconceivable, unacceptable. _I always knew I was selfish, but this, this is beyond anything. What kind of creature am I, to contemplate..._ She could not even think clearly, her revulsion at her own instinct making her shake and her stomach turn.

She sat there, on the floor, for hours, only managing to be thankful that no one came during that time as she slowly forced herself to pull herself together enough to rise and sit in a chair and pour herself wine, though she was still afraid to drink it, for her stomach could revolt. Sitting on the ground, she told herself firmly, would do no one any good. _I have to come to terms with what happened. Yes, it is true. I am a monster._

She took the thought and examined it from all sides, trying to discover a fault with it and finding none. There was no excuse for this.

She had contemplated killing her own child.

She shook again as she made herself think that clearly. Yes, that was the kind of person she was.

She would have perhaps abandoned the world then, not feeling like she deserved to live any more, but that would have killed the child too, and so she held on even in her disgust.

She would not fade, and that meant she had to go on. She had to go on and pretend to be a worthy queen of her people while knowing this about herself. She had to lock it deep inside, as a secret no one could ever find out, because if they did, people would turn away from her in disgust and her realm would fall apart.

Truly, no one could find out – not even Celeborn.

For the first time in centuries, there was something troubling her she could not share with her husband, for how could she tell him of such a thing? How could she go to Celeborn, who had dreamed of having a child with her for a millennium and a half now, and tell him: that child you so desire...I wished to kill it just now, and I still might in future, if I do not control myself.

She now remembered with a bitter laugh that time when she blamed Celeborn for not telling her his thoughts about the Select. _Where is the intimacy between us?_ She had asked him. Well, now it was truly and irrevocably gone. There could never again be the complete openness that had marked their relationship for so long, because there would never be a day when she could reveal this to him, not if she did not want to see revulsion in his eyes.

And so she finished her wine and stood and straightened her dress and hid her thoughts deep in her mind, and left her room to go look over the latest trade agreement with Lindórinand with Aseanettë, feeling like a deceiver of the worst kind as she did so. I pretend to still have some light in me, she thought, and yet I am all darkness now.

She considered trying to reach the light of the West to find out if she still could, but she was too afraid to find out.

And so she fought within herself, every minute of every day, to give her child what it needed, and thought of Ohtarwen more and more. Was this why Findoiolosse was weaker, easier to bend to another's will, than Artanáro? Because her mother could not find it in herself to give any more of her? That thought was what made Galadriel to let go of little more of herself, but it went against the grain and even as she did so, she wondered: was this why Ohtarwen died? Had Findoiolosse never been born, would her mother have been strong enough to survive the battle?

Her thoughts ran in circles, and the pretence of being simply happy in her pregnancy was taking its toll on her. She wished, desperately, hopelessly, for someone to talk to. She could not tell Celeborn, and while she loved Artanáro and Elrond dearly, this was not something one could discuss with those one saw as one's own children. And especially not with Artanáro.

And even Tindómiel, who could have perhaps been the best choice...how could she ever understand, how could she ever give Galadriel anything beside the confirmation that she never should have had agreed to this? And she was too young to burden with such terrible knowledge, too. Ambë was older, but she had no children of her own either, and Galadriel did not feel quite close enough to the lady to open her heart and soul so much. What if Ambë turned away in disgust, as she surely should? What if she told?

 _Itarillë_ , Galadriel thought desperately, _how I miss you!_ Findekáno or her uncle, she knew, could perhaps ease her mind too, but only Itarillë, who bore a child herself, could ever understand. And she was lost to her forever.

But then, perhaps Itarillë would have judged her? Being a mother, she would surely find this even more repulsive. And her uncle, too, who loved all his children...no, she could never tell them.

Findekáno would not turn away, though she knew that. He had killed himself, in Alqualondë, and she had not turned away from him either, not with finality. He who was closest to her heart...she always said that he was the one most like her, but only now, she glimpsed the similarity in full.

He would not have helped her much, though, not with his hidden but deep guilt. He would have listened, and understood, but he would have not eased her burden in most ways.

No, for that, she would have needed more, and so she thought of Lady Melian – but there, too, she would have been turned away in disgust, perhaps. So in the end, there was one friend she longed for the most: Lord Olórin, with his ever wise words.

She thought of him and missed him desperately every day, and in this state of mind, on the verge of collapse, Galadriel wandered to the edges of the Great Forest.

The Eldest was already waiting for her.

"Should come to me more, you should," he said when he saw her. "Your mind is too heavy."

Truer words, Galadriel thought tiredly, have never been spoken.

He sat with her on the edge of the forest and listened to her woes. "A fleeting thought," he said then, "is not the same as an intent. You would never have killed your child."

This was not the kind of speech one normally heard from The Eldest, and it roused Galadriel from the dark place where she was a little. She gave him an intent look. "How can you know that?" She asked after a while.

"I know," he replied simply, and her heart grew a little lighter.

Galadriel visited him often during the rest of her pregnancy, for in his presence and some time afterwards, it was always easier to let go of herself and give something to her child. Nevertheless, she could not have been more relieved when the time of birth finally came, and she scarcely felt the contractions and the pains through her relief that this torture would finally, finally be over, that she would no longer be in danger of committing the worst atrocity.

Setting her eyes on the child, however, such a powerful wave of guilt swept over her as she had never known before. The girl was beautiful and innocent, and that Galadriel had perhaps made her less than she could have been by her selfishness was almost too much to bear in that moment. And yet, she could not say in full confidence she would not do it again – for she still remembered how almost impossible she found it to let go of anything of herself.

Her eyes welled with tears. _A monster_ , she thought again. _A monster_. My own mother must have given so much to all of her children – we were all so strong of spirit – and yet I am incapable of giving up anything, anything at all. Had I not been a monster, this child could have had the world at her feet. But now, who knows? _Perhaps she will be weak and frail, perhaps she will fade at the slightest provocation and cause her father infinite grief, only because I, her own mother, am a monster._

Celeborn came in, and his face was bright when he looked upon his daughter. In fact, he could scarcely take his yes off her, and so he did not notice anything out of ordinary about his wife. "Have you decided on a name?" He asked after a long while of silent admiration.

Galadriel shook her head, quickly hiding her feelings in the shadowed crevices of her mind, as she had been doing for a year now. "Traditionally, that's your prerogative first," she said, striving to sound as happy as she could. "I wouldn't rob you off it."

He sat down on the bed and looked at the baby. "She has your beauty," he said, "but the silver hair of the Teleri. She won't be like high noon sun like you, I think, but still there's something of you in her. I shall name her Celebrían."

Galadriel found the last vestiges of strength somewhere and smiled. It was a beautiful name. She knew that she, herself, would never be choosing one. She had no right.

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As years passed, Galadriel's guilt did not abate.

Celebrían was beautiful without question, beautiful and full of light. Celeborn saw echoes of his brother in her, and though Galadriel supposed that was true, she herself never knew Galathil well enough for the comparison to occur to her. She saw traces of Nimloth and Elwing, but even more so she saw Oreth, as far as she was able to judge. She also remembered Lúthien in Celebrían's intense love for the forest and things that grew. But sometimes, she saw Findoiolosse in her daughter, and that made her uneasy.

Celebrían was not broken by tragedy, of course, and so she was stronger and lighter, but still there was something particular in Celebrían's reserve, even as a child, that struck a chord of memory, and of fear.

Fear because every time she looked at her daughter, she wondered if Celebrían could have been stronger, if she could have been more, if only Galadriel had not been so selfish. Would Celebrían pay for this some day, as Findoiolosse paid for her own weakness by being ensnared in Túrin's doom? Would Galadriel's selfishness one day cost her daughter her happiness? The thought was unbearable, and it soured every one of Celebrían's smiles.

And adding to her strain, too, was keeping all of this from Celeborn, who loved their daughter in a way uncomplicated by any guilt or fear, who spent much of his waking time with her, walking her through the forests and teaching her all there was to know about trees and flowers and all things that lived, and telling her stories of Doriath and the family that was lost.

Galadriel sometimes told her stories as well, stories of the Noldor, but most of the memories were so entwined with guilt for her that she hardly found pleasure in it, especially combined with the guilt of knowing that Celebrían could have been the greatest of all the Noldor if only she, herself, had not been such a terrible, cruel creature.

Sometimes, she found a shade of consolation from all of this, though, and not only in the company of The Eldest. He could bring her calm like no other, but at other times it was simply the little things, the throwaway sentence someone said in her presence. One day as she was drinking lemonade with Sarnel, taking a break from examining some proposed changes to the first draft of their offensive strategy, they watched Celebrían sitting at a lower terrace and drawing for a moment before Sarnel said: "You must be very proud of her. She is such a strong, clever, talented child."

And that was it, that was that tiny moment of consolation, of hope. As always in such moments, the thought went through Galadriel's mind that perhaps she had not given so little, perhaps it was enough, perhaps… But then, with the same regularity, the next thought followed: _yes, but you could have given more. You know you could have_. That was all there was to it, really.

"She truly is very talented, is she not?" She said, to Sarnel. "I suppose I am not the best person to judge this, though...nor the other epithets."

"Of course she is all that! Well, she is your daughter, after all, how could she be anything else?" This question was like a stab through Galadriel's heart, and it took much effort to keep her face unperturbed. "There can really be no doubt about cleverness, and as for strength," Sarnel continued, "have you ever seen her with other children? They are all afraid of her!"

"And are you certain that is not only because she is my daughter?"

Sarnel snorted. "That is part of it, to be sure, but she can be truly impressive when she wants to be. I suspect you only see her meek side because no one dares standing up to you."

"You do not know how much I sometimes wished that was true," Galadriel muttered in response.

"Come, now, who in this kingdom would dare to stand up to you when you are truly determined?"

"No one now, I suppose, except Celeborn. But it is always only in moments when it truly matters that this stops working."

Sarnel gave her a questioning look, but Galadriel shook her head. She did not want to burden her niece with that knowledge.

"We have been thinking of having children with Tyelperinquar as well," Sarnel changed the topic, "and seeing Celebrían, I feel the desire very strongly."

Galadriel paused in bringing her glass of lemonade to her lips and turned to her. "Sarnel...are you certain?"

"What do you mean?"

The Queen shook her head. It was not her place to dissuade anyone because of her own selfishness, and yet… "Only that you should not unless you were completely confident this was what you wanted. Bearing a child takes a toll, you have to give it much of yourself. Unless you truly wish it, it will become a great burden."

Sarnel seemed a little taken aback – clearly, she had expected warm encouragement from the relatively new mother, and words about children being a blessing of life. She promised to think about it in detail, but the slightly awkward feeling lingered and Galadriel soon requested they return to work.

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Sarnel decided, in the end, that her desire to have children was strong enough, and a beautiful pair of twins now ran through the halls of her house. They were like siblings to Celebrían, who was only ten years older than they were. Avorneth was her closest confidante and drew her out, and Mírdan always came up with ingenious plans for things they could all do together. The trio sometimes caused such mayhem in the palace that Galadriel was forced to make use of her sternest ruling voice and look. She was much reminded of Sarnel as a child

"Your children are clearly a bad influence on my daughter," she complained to her niece, who only laughed.

"She is the oldest," she pointed out. "If something, it is the other way round."

Galadriel shook her head. Sarnel knew perfectly well that was not how it was – Celebrían was, on her own, a very calm child, and it was only in the presence of her friends that she grew a little more wild. Mírdan, on the other hand, was wild whenever and wherever he was, and Sarnel was at this very moment attempting the impossible feat of calming him down enough to welcome their grandfather properly, for Artanáro was coming to visit.

Sarnel stayed dignified when he arrived, but as soon as he stepped to her, she put her arms around him in relief, and he embraced her tightly, holding for dear life. It was a very long time until he let her go and turned to finally met his grandchildren.

Galadriel allowed the family gathering to unfold in peace, and waited to the side until Artanáro familiarized himself with the children. Then his eyes turned to her, and he was there in a flash, holding her hands. "Aunt," he said. "I have missed you so much."

"And I you," she replied, embracing him. "One thing I did not fully realize before I experienced it was how us being both monarchs would limit the time we are able to spend together, and combined with having a child..."

"See? I told you you should have simply accepted my kingdom." He laughed and stepped back. "Will you introduce me to your daughter?"

With an echo of guilt she always felt in such situations, she motioned to Celebrían. "King _Gil-Galad_ ," she said formally, "meet my daughter, Princess _Celebrían_ of Hollin. Celebrían, meet Artanáro _Gil-Galad_ , High King of the Noldor in Middle-Earth and the King of Lindon, and my dear friend and great-nephew."

Celebrían smiled calmly and curtsied as Artanáro bowed to her.

They went to sit together as a family before the official feast in the evening, where the children would not be present, so that Artanáro could enjoy the company of his grandchildren to the fullest. He sat with Avorneth on one of his knees and Mírdan on the other, and attentively listened to their stories. "...and I won that race," Mírdan was saying.

"Because Celebrían did not compete," Avorneth returned.

Artanáro laughed. "Why did you not wish to compete?" He asked the princess.

Celebrían gave him a look. "Why should I, my king?" She asked.

"Well, do you not like it?"

"No." She paused. "I do not like running."

"What do you like, then?"

Celebrían thought about it for a moment. "The forest," she said, "and drawing."

"Seems like you have little enough interests in common with my grandchildren."

Celebrían shook her head slowly. "Avorneth at least likes the forest as well as I do."

"And Mírdan?"

"Mírdan can be persuaded to go when it seems to him there will be opportunity for some mischief," she replied drily, and all the adults laughed.

"Such badmouthing of my son," Sarnel chuckled. "I am sure he is a perfect sweetheart."

"Are you perhaps thinking of some other boy?" Tyelperinquar asked drily, and there was another burst of laugher.

"So taking care of twins is difficult, then, I take it?" Artanáro quipped.

Tyelperinquar exhaled. "It cannot be described," he said. "Sometimes I wonder how..." He paused, and cast a guilty look at Celebron before he continued, "how my grandmother ever managed, with seven children and the youngest two twins."

Tyelperinquar always seemed to feel guilty to as much as mention his familial connection to the Noldor, so Galadriel sought to reassure him. "I have frequently wondered the very same," she said. "And given that the two youngest children were probably the most innocent of them all, until the end, it clearly did not prevent her from raising them properly."

"I suppose," Tyelperinquar muttered, "that they were young enough to escape my grandfather's clutches."

"That was part of it, yes – with five sons, and your father such a favourite, he had no time left for the twins, from what Nelyafinwë said. Also, the twins had each other, and so they did not have so much space to be influenced by their unsavoury elder brothers."

"I wish I had had that sort of protection," he murmured.

"Beloved," Galadriel said softly, "stop it. You are a good and worthy person. You know you are."

"Rest assured," Artanáro added, "that I would not have consented to you marrying my daughter otherwise."

Sarnel smirked. "You truly believe you could have prevented the wedding, Father?"

"No," he said with a smile, "but I would have made my disapproval clear. Fortunately, there was no reason to."

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Later, as they were talking alone in Galadriel's chambers, Artanáro remembered Celebrían again and said: "She reminds me of my wife and my older daughter, I have to say."

Galadriel smiled, trying to ignore the usual guilt. "Thank you, for what higher praise could you give? I have thought about Oreth as well, yes, and she is one of those I sometimes think of when I look at my daughter."

"Who are the others?"

Galadriel looked away.

"Aunt?"

"Your sister," she said quietly.

Artanáro seemed shocked. "There is nothing but joy in Celebrían," he replied. "I have seen it."

"Yes, that is not what I meant."

He understood in that moment, and he shook his head. "You cannot compare her to yourself, Aunt."

"And yet she is my daughter. I should have been able to...if it had not been for my selfishness."

Artanáro looked puzzled, as he well might, but Galadriel did not want to explain herself. "Let us talk about politics instead," she said.

"If you want," he agreed. "How is the situation in the East?"

"Not good. Our spies report that Sauron seems to be building a fortress of some sort. He is recuperating."

"We knew that was likely to happen after Aldarion's death," he pointed out.

"Yes, though I had hoped it would not be quite so quickly."

"We are not the only ones who has spies."

Galadriel shifted nervously. "You think he has people in Númenórë?"

"Yes. Not people who directly serve him, but people who sell information to other people, who then...well. You know how it is."

She did, but she would have hoped realms like Númenórë would be free from this. But well...perhaps Númenórë under Elros. Now, it was a different realm. Ancalimë's rule was proving even more disastrous than her father's. He, at least, had done some good in Middle-Earth. She was ruining all of his work by her complete refusal to help. "Do you think he has someone like that _here_?" She asked.

"It is your realm, you know better than I," Artanáro replied in a neutral tone of voice, but it was clear he believed so.

"And in Lindon?"

"Very likely, yes."

"You seem very calm about it."

He shrugged. "Ever since I realized, I have been doing my best to keep my counsel as private as possible, and not to give anything away. I do not suspect anyone of those close to me, after all."

"That is all well and nice, but if he's building a fortress, we will need to stick to our plan and attack him within a few centuries, and that is very difficult to prepare in secrecy."

Artanáro nodded. "You are right, of course. What must be done must be done. We will keep secret what we can, and prepare for him knowing the rest."

"Khazad-dûm might be useful for this. The realm does not admit just anyone inside, so strangers cannot simply come there and settle on their land, as they can here. Some particular preparations, like making of special weapons or armour, could be done there."

"Well. Who knew? Your cordial relationship with the dwarves will be useful after all."

Galadriel rolled her eyes. "Have you not talked to Tyelperinquar?" She asked. "Trust me, he would be able to give you a very detailed list of every way in which the closeness of Khazad-dûm benefited us. Sarnel sometimes says that he would move there for months on end if he could."

"And to think, I have called him a good person only a few hours before!"

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AN: Well, being Galadriel's daughter was never going to be easy.

Apologies to anyone who thought Celebrían would be another happy occasion for Galadriel. If Tolkien chose to write such a repulsive bit of misogyny into his work as those super-draining elven pregnancies (see my AN in chapter 39)...well, then I'm here to fully explore its implications in their gruesomeness.

Also, the "she was no Míriel" line is a reference to "she was no Lúthien", which is from the brilliant story "the light of the dying day" by ncfan with which I agree completely (and you have heard me rant about that subject already, so I won't repeat myself, but just...go read it.)

Also also, we're now halfway through the story. Yes, there's a long way to go still. Twenty more chapters of Second age, and then the whole of third.

Oh and another thing: I've just realized that this could be read as very militantly pro-life, but...that is SO not the point I'm making here. I might get into this problem among elves and men in some later chapter, just to clear it up properly.


	51. Surprise

**Chapter 51: Surprise**

 _Year 1200 of the Second Age, Hollin_

"It isn't my cup of tea," Amdír said, looking over Hollin from the second highest terrace of the royal palace, "but I do have to admit that your realm is beautiful."

"Well, thank you," Galadriel replied. "From you, the compliment is doubly valuable."

"Because it's so unexpected?"

"Yes," she admitted plainly, and Amdír laughed a little.

"You aren't wrong," he said. "And no matter my admiration for this, I'm still looking forward to that walk in the forest your daughter promised me."

"Don't get your hopes up – it's a very small forest, even compared to Lórinand." The – let alone to Region and Neldoreth – hung, unsaid, in the air. "But my daughter does know every tree and plant in there, so she'll be a very good guide, I believe. And if there's time, we might all go to the edge of the Great Forest together, though I suppose you've seen that one."

He shook his head. "Not really. We merely passed its edge when we travelled East those centuries ago."

Galadriel was surprised. "But the road leads through it."

"Back then, it didn't."

"Oh! Well, that explains that mystery."

He gave her a questioning look. "Mystery?"

"I wondered why the road led through the forest, when the trees so clearly weren't friendly to people. It seems, however, that it was the forest that expanded across the road." She frowned. "It's a wonder it's still passable, in that case. I'd have expected the trees to envelop it fully by now."

Amdír shrugged. "Well, your people travel it frequently these days, don't they? That helps to keep the trees at bay. They must have only expanded beyond the road shortly before your first journey. Yes, I'd dearly like to see that forest. It sounds very different from Lórinand."

Galadriel laughed at that. "About as different as two forests can be, I believe. Very well, we shall go there. However, work before pleasure – Sarnel and I need you to discuss some strategic matters."

"If you must."

Galadriel hesitated. "Do you believe you could try and pass some of the things we say on to Oropher? Preferably disguised as your own...only if you agree with us, of course."

"Of course." There was a slight inflection of sarcasm in his tone, but then he grew serious: "He still won't hear you?"

"He'd listen to Celeborn just fine, but every time my husband opens his mouth, Oropher hears me speaking."

"I wonder why."

Galadriel rolled her eyes, and led him to the parlour where Sarnel was waiting. She rose, and bowed. "King Amdír," she said.

"Princess Sarnel," he returned. "So, what instructions do you have for me?" He asked, sitting down.

She raised her eyebrow as she settled opposite to him. "I could hardly presume to give you instructions...but if you could get your army to the best possible shape, it'd be good. We'd also like to know how much armour and weapons you'll require – please understand that we might not be able to supply you completely, but we'll do our best."

"I understand – Hollin soldiers take priority, and then there's Lindon too."

Galadriel gave him a look. "Would you act differently in our place?"

"Of course not. Continue."

"We're attempting secrecy," Sarnel said, "so if you could do this while remaining as unobtrusive as possible, it'd be doubly appreciated."

"When do you intend to attack?"

"As soon as we can. Within this century, certainly. We have the numbers, so we have to attack before he gains his strength and armies back, now that Númenórë is no longer helping us contain him."

"Very well. I shall endeavour to be prepared."

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"Could you please sit still?" Celebrían asked mildly, giving Avorneth a disapproving look.

"Well, I am bored! I cannot read as I am now, I cannot study anything, the view, while nice, is unchanging..."

"My friend, it was you who insisted I paint your portrait. If it was up to me, I would be painting that tree by the stream-"

"You mean that one just behind Tindómiel's house? You already painted that, as least five times!"

"That does not matter. As long as its beauty does not go away, I will try again and again to capture it."

Galadriel smiled. Her daughter had insisted that only the highest terrace had the proper light to paint in, and so she was now privy to this conversation between her and Avorneth as she tried to review some suggestions handed to her by Aseanettë regarding better organization of their trade. The lady had the look of a healer, mild and meek, but one of the sharpest minds Galadriel had ever known. While both of her younger sisters continued their father's profession, the eldest of the family found her vocation elsewhere, and Galadriel was now struggling to even form an opinion on the things she was saying. She understood trade well enough, but this was beyond her.

"Just tell me a story to keep me entertained," Avorneth was saying on the terrace.

"I cannot tell you a story while I paint," Celebrían explained patiently, "it would distract me too much."

There was a short silence, and then: "Aunt Galadriel! Aunt Galadriel, can you tell us a story? Or better yet, sing us a song?"

Galadriel, grateful for the excuse to interrupt her work, emerged into the sunlight. "You sound as if you were a century younger," she said, amused.

"Well, if you can think of any respectable adult entertainments I can take up while sitting for a portrait, I will be glad for the recommendations!"

"Oh, singing songs – and listening to them – is very respectable. It was the way you asked for it! What do you wish to hear?"

Avorneth considered. "You know how dearly I love Noldorin tunes, especially those of Ondolindë. But perhaps Celebrían should decide? She is doing the work, after all."

Celebrían seemed to be fully concentrating on her painting. "It was you who wanted a song, so you should pick it," she said quietly, "though I have to admit I cannot quite guarantee that a Noldorin tune will not make me paint all strange."

Galadriel gave a small sigh. She knew too well that out of the two parts of her heritage, Celebrían identified much more as a Sinda. It made her sad, sometimes, but never surprised. "What would not make you paint 'all strange', then?"

"Silence suits me best," her daughter replied calmly, "but as I am unlikely to get that...well. You know – at least I think you do - I like the songs of Doriath, especially those describing the beauty of Neldoreth."

Avorneth grimaced. "Did you intentionally pick the most boring tunes to be found?"

Celebrían shook her head. "I will never understand you in this," she said. "You like walking in the forest as much as I do."

"Walking in the forest, yes. Actually watching things that live is one of the most uplifting experiences I know. But listening to songs about them? Why would I want to do that? Perhaps if I was locked in some dark dungeon without a bit of green to cheer me, but otherwise, I will always rather just go and see the forest for myself."

"Not now, please. I have just started working on your nose."

"Should I leave it up to Avorneth, then?" Galadriel asked. "She wished for an Ondolindë song...perhaps one of those by Itarillë would serve?"

"Mhm." Avorneth considered, biting her lip, which made Celebrían sigh softly. "I like the song to Queen Varda, but...do you think you could skip the beginning and go directly to the part about her creating the stars? That is my favourite."

"If I do that, the song will not last long enough for Celebrían to finish painting you by far. I will start at the beginning and you can join in with your singing when I get to your favourite part."

"No, she cannot," Celebrían interrupted drily. "By that time, I will be painting the mouth."

When Avorneth's laughter died out, Galadriel began to sing, and soon she was so immersed in the song that she did not even notice Celeborn listening in the doorway until she finished and he came to give her a kiss on the cheek. "Beautiful, as always, my love," he said. "This was such a perfect tableau, my two most cherished elves both engaging their artistic talents. I could watch you and listen to you forever."

Avorneth shifted, making Celebrían sigh again. "I'm sorry for being in the way, Uncle."

"Or, you can never be in the way, beloved. You wouldn't be very far behind on that list, after all."

"Really? Who else would be ahead of me?" The young nis asked impishly, and Celeborn chuckled.

"You can't ask me to rank all of those I love by how much I appreciate them. I'd inevitably end up being unfair to someone." He turned to Celebrían. "What came over you to make you paint portraits?" He asked.

"Avorneth insisted long enough that I simply gave in, Father," Celebrían replied resignedly.

"That sounds most unlike you – but then, Avorneth is a special friend." He smiled. "I wish you'd paint your mother in this manner one day."

Celebrían looked away. "I'm sure mother is too busy for such a waste of time," she muttered.

"Well, I'm sitting here with you now, as you paint someone else," Galadriel pointed out as mildly as possible, wishing very much her daughter would agree to it, but not wanting to pressure her in any way. "So clearly, I'm not. I'd be happy if you were willing to paint me."

Celebrían gave her a fleeting look then. "I can try," she said, "but I don't know if I can do you justice."

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Tindómiel returned from one of her frequent exploring trips to Hollin's surroundings, and she was now sitting in Galadriel's parlour, telling her about the journey.

"I discovered a...valley, I suppose, though it is more like a canyon or something of the sort. It is close to where the great road meets the river, and it is so very beautiful. You must come with me to see it one day."

"I will gladly do so," Galadriel agreed, "it does not seem too far."

"No, no more than three days' journey." Ttindómiel took her glass and realized it was empty, and Galadriel immediately poured out more to both herself and her guest. They drank, and then the younger lady asked: "And how have you been in my absence? How is Celebrían and the twins?"

Galadriel was never sure how to answer these questions. "As well as always, I suppose. Celebrían painted Avorneth's portrait, and it is very beautiful. You should see it."

"She paints portraits?" Tindómiel was surprised.

"No, but she made an exception."

"Would she paint you?"

Galadriel smiled at that, a little sadly, and took another sip of her wine. "Celeborn had the same idea, but I do not believe she wishes to do so."

"Why not? You would be an exquisite subject," Tindómiel said with a smile.

Galadriel gave her a tired look. "You know our relationship is a little...strained."

Her guest sighed. "I would not go as far, but yes, I am aware. I did not think it was enough of a problem to prevent Celebrían from painting you, though."

"Her art is very personal to her, I believe."

There was a short silence. "I have always wondered about your problems with her," Tindómiel said then. "Perhaps now is a good time to ask. It is not as if you are unkind to her. Why is Celebrían so distant?"

Galadriel smiled sadly. "It is my fault, of course."

"I do not know if you are joking or..."

The Nolde hesitated. She had been thinking about telling Tindómiel for years, desperately wishing to discuss it with someone to whom she could speak normally, not like The Eldest, and knowing she was the only person who might not judge her. But still, she was so young, and Galadriel was responsible for her, she should not force her to face this…

"You are keeping something from me," Tindómiel said.

Galadriel slowly nodded.

The half-eleven lady looked away, saying: "You do not have to tell me, of course, but just – you can, you know. You are always there for me and my trouble. I am ready to listen to you, too, in turn."

Tindómiel tried not to show it, but Galadriel could feel she was a little hurt by her reluctance to speak. She was suddenly reminded of young Itarillë, being offended when Galadriel tried to shield her from the political realities of Aman after Moricotto was released.

And so, she made up her mind, and decided to speak.

Haltingly, she described her monstrous impulse, striving for as precise and objective terms as she could achieve.

Tindómiel listened patiently, only a mild surprise appearing in her face when Galadriel got to the point. "You can do that?" She asked curiously.

"Do what?"

"Cut away your child. Among the Second born, when a woman wishes to end her pregnancy, she has to go and see a midwife."

Galadriel stared at her, horrified. "That actually happens?"

"Of course it happens. Or did it seem to you that every woman had dozens of children in Númenórë?"

The Nolde was confused by the comparison. "No, but...there is a difference between choosing not to have a child and killing it."

Tindómiel opened her mouth to say something, then closed it and looked at Galadriel for a long while. "You mean you do not know?" She asked then.

"Know what?"

The younger lady took a deep breath. "Second-born women cannot control whether they have children, not in the way elves can – and I thank the One every day that this was one of the things he allowed the Half-Elven to keep. They can control the time when they lie with their husbands, but once that is done, it is out of their hands."

Galadriel was incredulous. "So every time they are with their husbands…?"

"They can get pregnant. Well, about half of the time, given how Second-born fertility works, but yes."

"But that is terrible!"

"You know that pregnancy does not have such a high cost to them as it does to elves..."

"But still, they bear the children in their wombs, and the birth – I have helped at many Second-born births, and it is much more dangerous and painful than ours are!"

"Yes, that is true."

Galadriel shook her head, uncomprehending. "So if they choose to marry," she said, "they either have to go through that over and over again...or resort to killing their children?"

Tindómiel shifted. "Well, there are...ways to make pregnancy less likely, from what I know, but they are not foolproof, no. There is always a risk. Unless a woman lies with her husband during her monthly bleeding, there is always a risk."

"Monthly bleeding, another thing they have to face." Galadriel drank deeply from her glass, having trouble taking it in. How was it possible? She suffered enough through her one pregnancy, the idea that Second-born women had to do that repeatedly, or deal with the guilt of ending a life...how could the One make them face such a choice? "It is so difficult to believe in the One's justice sometimes, you know?" She said aloud. "How have they deserved this? What have the women who live today have to do with their ancestors serving the Enemy?"

Tindómiel shrugged. "What have the elves done to deserve such a high cost of their pregnancies? His ways are mysterious."

Galadriel admired Tindómiel's faith in that moment. She was still in shock. "But then," she said after a moment, "that is the difference. If women have no way to prevent their pregnancies, then perhaps – as terrible as it is to say – perhaps resorting to killing a child can be...understood. But I had. I chose to have that child, Tindómiel, and I almost killed her."

"Well, it is hardly a proper choice when you do not know the cost, not truly. You do not plan to have another one, do you?"

"Certainly not!"

"There you are, then."

Galadriel shook her head. This was all too confusing, and surprising, and she needed some time to wrap her head around that reaction and new information. "Tell me about what you saw in my realm, please," she said. "I need something else to think of."

"As you wish," Tindómiel replied. "The realm is fine. Even at its edges. I did not discover any wrongdoing or attempt to cheat the poorer elves out of their wages or anything of the other possible evils that could take place in the parts of realm that are too far away for the Queen to see. Truly, we are blooming." She smiled. "I could tell you about the beautiful nooks and tableaux I discovered along the way, but then, these things are better seen in person. In fact, the only remotely interesting thing I heard about was the mysterious magical man."

Galadriel blinked. This, at least, caught her attention enough to divert if from her own monstrosity and injustices the Second-born had to face. "What do you mean?" She asked. Had Tindómiel, perhaps, discovered The Eldest?

"Oh, it might be just a rumour. But they say there is a mysterious nér who sometimes appears in the villages at the edges of the realm, and that he is always very helpful with everything – especially with things relating to craft."

Galadriel felt a tug on her memories, as if she had heard a story like this before but could not quite recall when and where. She was too preoccupied by other things. But something about this was familiar. "Any other details about him?"

"Well, he appears to be the most selfless man to ever walk Arda. He never asks for anything in return, his advice is always good, and several families told me he helped them craft things they then sold for a very good price, helping them just when the money came most handy, before a wedding in the family or the birth of a child, when his help allowed them to have a feast and a celebration the way they wish, without having to compromise. Oh and he gives gifts sometimes, too, especially to children and young people – trifles and small things, but often very pretty and handy, too. Little things that make life easier. A knife that cuts vegetables more easily...that sort of thing."

The vaguely unpleasant feeling was deepening, even though there was still nothing wrong with what Tindómiel was saying. "And they have no idea who he is?"

"No. They say he is neither man nor elf, but...you know how imagination works sometimes. If he exists at all, he might be just a loner – or Tyelperinquar likes to make fun of your subjects."

"Hmm, perhaps." But Galadriel was not happy with that solution to the riddle. For all Tyelperinquar was much changed now, she still could not quite imagine him walking among the poorest of her realm for pleasure. His contrition took the form of working in the forge, yes, but what he made were usually extraordinarily beautiful jewels he tended to gift to her, apparently in the hopes that enough of them would finally help him make peace with his conscience, or to his wife, in the hopes of proving himself worthy of her in spite of repeatedly being told he was. Galadriel did not consider it a particularly effective method, but if it helped him…

"Do they say where he comes from, at least?"

"No. They say he simply appears. One of the reasons they consider him to be gifted with special powers, you see."

Tindómiel said it with a smile, but Galadriel felt a shiver go down her spine. There was one she remembered could appear and disappear at will. His appearance hardly ever led to anything good for those she loved in the last century of the last age.

Yet the idea of Macalaurë as the secret benefactor of the poorest of her realm was even more absurd than Tyelperinquar cast in that role. She was not sure if he ever spoke to a common person in his entire life.

Of course, the years of solitary exile could have changed him. Galadriel had no idea where he was, but when she had still lived in Lindon, she heard an echo of the Noldolantë sometimes, coming from the seashore, and that led her to believe that he walked close to that realm, desirous of coming to see those he once knew and yet, at the same time, too afraid to do so. There was something tragic about that image.

But then Galadriel shook herself. The mysterious benefactor of her poor was clearly a craftsman. Macalaurë never entered the forge unless to speak to his family, to his father's great grief. It could not be him.

She supposed a Maia of some sort was possible, but they were not exactly a dime a dozen either. The mere idea was interesting enough to explore more, even if it was not for her bad feelings. And it was a much needed distraction.

She turned back to Tindómiel. "Thank you for telling me. I think I might do some travelling myself."

"I did not know it would be of so much interest to you! I chiefly treasured it as a gem for Quendingoldo. You know he will love this story, and wish to record it with as many details as I can give him." She hesitated. "You do not mind, do you?"

"No...let him record it. Perhaps, if I find something out, I will be able to add to his story."

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Not long afterwards, Galadriel set out for the Great Forest. On the way, she visited some of the settlements on the edges of her realm to speak to people there, but it was difficult. She was the Queen, after all, and they spoke less openly to her than they did to Tindómiel. They were full of respect and less full of honesty. Those who were willing to speak of the magical man at all had nothing but praise for him, though, and seemed very attached to him and unwilling to even consider he might have anything but their best interests at heart.

The Eldest was not in the Forest to meet Galadriel, but that did not trouble her. He came and went as he pleased, and was always there when she desperately needed him and rarely at any other times. The Ents were much more reliable in this way.

It was Treebeard in person who came to speak with her, and he fell deep in thought at her question about a strange and mysterious magical nér. "He doesn't go through the forests," he said. "No, he doesn't. We know no one like that here."

"Where does he go through, then? There's little around us but forests and mountains."

"I don't know that. But he didn't pass under my trees."

"Well, then. I'll ask elsewhere, but...do you know who he might be? You remember much, perhaps you've heard of a being like this."

Treebeard rumbled. "I know trees and plants and the animals that run among my roots, and sometimes, sometimes elves, too, those who come here and speak to me and mine. But I don't know of magical men. That isn't for me."

Galadriel had to concede defeat.

That left the mountains, then, so she contacted the eagles next. "No," was the answer from their king. "He did not come over the mountains either."

"Could he have come under the mountains?" Galadriel asked.

"We would not know in that case."

"And do you know who he could be?"

The king gave her what seemed like an amused look. "Many can hide from the eyes of Elves and Men," he said, "but no one can hide from our eyes. We see all. We cannot tell you who hides and then shows himself, for to us, no one is ever hidden, as long as they walk on Arda's surface."

Galadriel found that answer a little terrifying in a strange way, and thought to herself that if Findekáno spent so much time in his youth with the eagles, she understood why he became so valiant.

"Thank you for your help, then," she said, preparing to leave.

"We gave our word," was the answer.

Galadriel longed to ask how Itarillë was doing, far in the West, but refrained. She found out long ago that while the eagles still flew to Aman to give the Elder King their reports, they did not appreciate being asked about it.

 _Under the mountains_ , Galadriel mused. It seemed extremely unlikely, and yet she was unwilling to leave any avenue unexplored.

And so, to the dwarves she went, to find out whether they had had a strange, unknown nér pass through their kingdom.

"You know how few we allow in here," King Ai said, sounding almost offended. "We certainly didn't allow anyone like this."

"Then how," Galadriel insisted, "did he get to my kingdom?"

"There's the north," the king suggested.

"If that's what happened," Galadriel replied, "then I'm more fearful about him than before. Very few go North willingly, and ever fewer with good intentions. The traces of evil are still there."

"Hah," he scoffed. "He seems to only give your people help. Why'd he be evil?"

"The Enemy was a master of lies," Galadriel replied, "and seemed a great friend of the Noldor in Aman. It took us long to see his true colours."

As she said those words, she suddenly realized that this, this was what the entire situation reminded her of. Moricotto in Aman, becoming friendly with the elves to poison their ears with his lies, to turn them against the Valar. She froze. _No,_ she thought quietly, _no, it cannot be...surely I am only being too frightful, too careful because of bitter experience…_

This man was, after all, only moving among the poor, at the fringes of the realm. Something the Enemy would never have done. Surely this could not be true. Still, she had better warn her council.

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As it turned out, the council was not as worried by the rumours as she was. Sarnel failed to see the danger in an unknown benefactor, Quendingoldo regarded him as simply as an interesting oddity, and even Celeborn, not having her experience from Aman, did not see that much of a reason for worry. As for Tyelperinquar, he seemed thrilled by the news.

"In my opinion," he said, "it is a craftsman who heard about our proves and is now attempting to gain access to the realm, to work with us. It is, to me, an exciting opportunity. He's a colleague."

"Celebrimbor...I brought the news to this council to warn you, not to encourage you, and him, by extension."

"I know, and I give you my word to be careful around him. But understand...this is very important to me. I need someone to bounce my ideas off, to share creative energy with. I did my best work – by far my best work – when Narvi was alive, but ever since he died, it's been difficult. The other jewel smiths are good, of course, but not quite...well, not quite good enough to be of service to me in this way, let me be honest. I need this man."

"Beloved, you work is exceptional still. There is no need to-"

"But there is! Craft is the one thing I am truly good at, so please, allow me to do it, to the best of my ability. It's how I can serve this realm."

Sarnel have Galadriel a loaded look, and the queen sighed. "I can hardly forbid you from speaking to him. But I'll ask you that if you do, you come and tell me about your conversations in detail."

"Well...of course, if you insist, but...they're likely to be highly technical, you know."

"Well, I won't ask you about all that, of course. I wouldn't understand it. But still, there are...subtle things, small things, which...well, as I said, none of you remember Aman, and the Enemy there. Ask Lord Glorfindel, next time he comes."

Tyelperinquar shook his head. "No, I trust you, it's only...perhaps your bitter experience from there is making you overly cautious."

"It's possible," Galadriel had to admit, for had she not thought just this very recently?

But still, she missed Artanáro and Elrond bitterly now, and even Ambë. Neither of them, she knew, would dismiss her worry. Artanáro because he had his own bitter experience with sweet words that were poison, in the form of Túrin in days of Narogrotto. His father paid with his life for those words, and Artanáro was unlike to forget.

Elrond, because he was cautious by nature, and because he knew the lore of the Noldor very well. He would have counselled distrust, she knew. Distrust of this man who never came to introduce himself openly, never stated his name or business, as manners would dictate. Such man, Elrond would say, must have some hidden purpose in mind. That purpose might not be especially dark, but it still required caution.

And Ambë, because she had once been at the forefront of welcoming strangers that came into her land, only to find out, years later, that these strangers were guilty of a massacre of her kin beyond the Sea. That saw the last of her open kindness to those she did not know. She, too, would have counselled caution.

But different kind of elves sat in the council of Hollin, the kind that did not hesitate to abandon a blooming kingdom to try their luck in an unknown land, and perhaps it was not surprising that these people would be less cautious. Galadriel herself, after all, usually had scorn for over-cautiousness. Oh, to remember what she thought of Turukáno! And if it had not been for the boldness of these people, they would not have come with her. Galadriel owed them much. She should not be wroth with them. They were likely right, after all. It was, likely, only her fearfulness speaking.

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"I finally found him!" Tyelperinquar told her, all triumphant, when he entered her chambers without waiting for an invitation one day.

"Found whom?" She asked, uncomprehending.

"Your mysterious magical man. His name is Aulendil, though he calls himself Annatár among the people, and I can assure you, he presents no danger to us."

That was a relief to hear, but Galadriel wanted to be certain first. "How do you know?"

"He was sent by the Valar!" Tyelperinquar laughed. "He is a Maia of Aule, sent to us to help because they realized there was a new shadow rising. They wanted to give us help in our fight against Sauron, and so they sent him."

Galadriel frowned. She wanted to believe this so much, and yet...this was not, in her experience, how the Valar usually acted. They left them alone to face the Enemy for half a millenium before their armies came, and it required Ardamírë to risk everything to ask for their help first. That they would send help before any real war had started seemed...unlikely, to put it mildly.

"I did not spend much time with Lord Aulë," she admitted, "but still, I do not recall anyone of that name among his people."

Tyelperinquar shrugged, unconcerned. "You cannot expect to know all of them from stories. He might not have been very important, and from what he said, I get the feeling he never spent much time with elves in Aman."

"Strange that he was chosen for this mission, then, is it not? Besides, there are some other things that do not sit right in this tale. Why did he not come to speak to me, and instead only ever appears on the edges of our realm?"

Tyelperinquar looked suddenly embarrassed. "Well..."

"Well?"

"It seems he thought...it seems he thought you have some...enmity against the Valar, and that you would perhaps not receive him kindly."

Galadriel froze. How, how could he know? No one knew about her ban from Aman, no one but Celeborn and Artanáro, and even to Artanáro she only told about it centuries later. Her fear suddenly grew. Who was this man?

Tyelperinquar, meanwhile, continued. "So he chose to gain your trust by helping your people first. He said he thought that was the best and foolproof way to gain any monarch's sympathy."

She was still petrified. She sensed a touch of a master of lies behind all of this, a brilliant attempt to make it impossible for her to act in any way without confirming his words...and yet, what if it was all true? There was nothing directly impossible about what this Annatár said, only very unlikely. That, she thought, was part of the brilliance.


	52. Shock

AN: There is a drabble about Celebrimbor and Sauron on my tumblr in 'the nolde' tag if you want a glimpse of how I imagine the interaction worked... or the direct address is barbarakaterina. tumblr post/148072449106

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 **Chapter 52: Shock**

 _Year 1280 of the Second Age, Hollin_

The danger that was Annatár was now spreading through the realm, and Galadriel had no idea how to stop it.

Ancalimë's son was being given the Sceptre of Númenórë today, and in spite of not having been to the island for two centuries, Galadriel would have probably gone there for this occasion at least, to verify what others say about Anárion's instability – if it was not for this danger.

She had warned Tyelperinquar not to fully trust Annatár after she considered the matter in detail and consulted it with Celeborn, and while he promised her to be careful, she could see in his mind that he still thought her overly cautious, and that he also gave some credit to Annatár's words that she was, perhaps, blinded by her grudge against the Valar. Tyelperinquar did not fully understand what that grudge was, thankfully, and only thought of their hesitation to help in the first age. He thought of his father's own bitterness.

So not only did Tyelperinquar continue to trust Annatár, but, being impressed by the man's skills, he introduced the other smiths and craftsmen of Hollin to him. As far as she could tell, they were all charmed. It was Tyelperinquar with his son who acted as their representatives before her, of course, and they were never short of praise. "My work has never been as good as with his guidance," Tyelperinquar said. "He inspires me in a way not even Narvi ever did. Working with him, I feel that I am finally reaching my purpose in life, doing what I am truly good at."

"My work has improved too," Mírdan added, "and so has that of the others. My friends all keep getting inspired and coming to me with excellent ideas now, even those who...well, who were frankly mediocre until now. There is not one among us who does not love Annatár."

Yes, Galadriel thought, that was the crux of the problem.

She could not convince her people not to listen to Annatár, not when he knew so much. They all listened to her advice and tales from Aman, solemnly declared themselves warned, and returned to working with him.

"I take your warning seriously, cousin," Tyelperinquar assured her for the umpteenth time, "and I listen carefully for any words of treason or strife he might utter, but I swear to you he says nothing. How can he mean harm to us when all he does is advice us with our work?"

Galadriel did not know.

She went to speak to Sarnel about the matter, but her chief commander had few enough answers for her. "You know I do not care about crafting," she said. "I do not interfere in what Tyelperinquar and Mírdan do in the forge."

"Yes, but what do they tell you about Annatár?"

Sarnel shrugged. "That he is talented, good and generous, and inspiring. That they have much to be grateful for, to him."

"They never express any reservations about him, not even to you?" Galadriel had hoped that perhaps they only kept it from her, in fear she would send Annatár away.

"No. I know you mistrust him, but if you want to find someone to share those feelings with you, my son and husband are not those people."

"Does that not...worry you?"

Sarnel seemed wholly unconcerned. "Well, if he truly is a Maia sent by the Valar, we have nothing to fear. And if he is not, if he is merely a Man or elf, then we have nothing to fear either – any attempt to betray us in some way, he will not survive. You know we made sure of that."

Galadriel did. There were many precautions she decided on after a few decades of his visits only growing more frequent, by all accounts, and him seeming to be becoming more and more popular.

"Every time he comes here, I have him watched," Sarnel continued. "Tyelperinquar lets me read the letters he sends him, we make sure no military secrets get anywhere near him." She shrugged. "I do not trust him indiscriminately like my husband does, but frankly, I do not consider him a threat."

Galadriel hesitated. "You know why I do. I told you about the Enemy in Tirion."

"Yes, but he was the most powerful of the Valar. That is surely different."

"Yet he did not gain the Noldor by force. It was by cunning."

"And his cunning led to Fëanáro drawing a sword on his brother, which in turn made the Valar notice and take care of the situation. If it had not been for his power, this would have been the end of it. And it will be the end of it here, if he ever tries anything. That, I can promise you."

Galadriel sighed. Sarnel likely had a point. She still had no proof that there was anything truly wrong about Annatár at all, after all. He could be just a man or elf with unsavory past, attempting to hide it and compensate for it by his good deeds now. It was certain by now that he intentionally avoided her, disappearing every time she came close to a place where she heard he was, but that could have an innocent enough explanation, even if it hardly went with the idea that he was a messenger from the Valar.

Tyelperinquar, of course, had an excuse for that as well, no doubt fed to him by Annatár. "He knows you do not trust him," he said, "and does not wish to face you. I believe he fears...unpleasantness, and so he stays away out of respect for you."

One of the things that worried her most about Annatár was how much easier it seemed to get, with time, for him to feed Tyelperinquar any lie and have him believe it.

She considered who else could give her some information on this matter. Neither Quendingoldo nor Tindómiel had any contact with Annatár. Tindómiel had no interest in crafting, and Quendingoldo's entirely theoretical one, especially in new techniques and materials, was better satisfied by other elves. From what he had said, Annatár had no patience for theoretical discussions, so after trying once, he gave up.

The dwarves of Khazad-dum would have been more interested, for certain, but Annatár never went there and never sought that friendship. Galadriel had warned them against him, too, but she was not so certain they would have heeded that warning had he offered his attentions. As it was, however, Hadhodrond was safe from him, though it also added to her suspicions. Certainly the Valar in general always had more to do with elves, but if Annatár claimed to be from Aulë…? But then, perhaps that was the reason: perhaps he knew that the dwarves, who venerated Lord Aulë the most, would see through him immediately.

After some consideration, Galadriel finally decided to try and speak to Avorneth. She was no craftswoman herself, but like Quendingoldo, she had some theoretical interest, and she was still close to her brother, even though he had drifted apart from the girls during the years, seeking company mostly with the other jewel-smiths. Perhaps she could tell her more than Sarnel, even though she also knew less about Galadriel's real worries. Those were only for the council to be aware of.

She found Avorneth with Celebrían, not very surprisingly, this time on the terrace of Celebrían's room.

"Mother," Celebrían said in that level voice of hers when she entered. "Do you need something?"

"I wished to speak with Avorneth, actually."

"Oh, of course. I will not be in your way."

"I do not mind you being present, beloved. But I doubt you would have the knowledge I seek." She turned to Avorneth. "How much does your brother tell you about Annatár?"

Avorneth chuckled, not looking up from the book she was reading. "To be truthful, he hardly speaks of anything else these days. It is exhausting."

"And you have noticed no signs of reservation on his or your father's regard?" Galadriel insisted.

This made Avorneth look at her. "No. Why should I?"

"I do not trust Annatár, not quite, and I have told your father and brother so, but it seems..."

"Well, if you have, I would not have known it from the way they speak." Avorneth shut her book. "But I agree with you, there is something a little dodgy."

Galadriel blinked. "Do you?"

"Yes. I only spoke to him a few times, at my father's and brother's insistence, and...I do not know. Something is simply not right. You know what it is that I appreciate about crafting, so I just kept asking about how the things he showed the jewel-smiths were done, and not only did he never explain how it worked, not truly, he also...well, he seemed bothered by the questions."

"Quendingoldo told me he was not fond of theoretical discussions," Galadriel muttered, sitting down at the table with the young ladies without being asked.

Avorneth shook her head. "That is not it, though. There are plenty of craftsmen who are like this, simply do their work as they feel it and could not even explain what they are doing if they wanted, not exactly. I know that sort intimately, I grew up among craftsmen – craftsmen and soldiers. Many of both kinds do not much hold with theoretical discussions, to my chagrin. My brother is like that, after all." She gave a small smile. "It makes me all the more grateful for you and Uncle. Anyway, with Annatár the feeling was...different, at least to me. There was, as I said, something dodgy."

"I have never spoken to him, of course," Celebrían said archly, "but I have heard about some of his ideas and I have to say many seem to have merit."

Galadriel was alarmed. "What ideas?" She asked, too sharply, and felt the irritation at her tone in Celebrían's mind before it was hidden in its folds.

"He suggests," she said, her voice perfectly level, "that the...purpose of our staying in Middle-Earth is to work on making it as beautiful as Aman."

"That is not possible," Galadriel objected immediately.

"He says it is. He claims that by devoted work, it could be done, and it is only our misunderstanding of our purpose that prevents us from doing so."

"But I thought you did not care about craft, and thought the most beauty could be found in nature?" Avorneth said wonderingly.

"That is true, but he spoke more generally, and it seems his words apply to that as well...there are plants that grow in Aman, from what I know, that we do not have here. Why? I know, Mother, that you have some mellyrn seeds and that you have not planted them. Again, why?"

Galadriel raised her eyebrows. "I consulted your father. They would not grow here, or if they did, they would wither soon."

That seemed to surprise Celebrían. "Oh. Father said so? Well, I suppose Annatár does not really know much about things that grow, so he might be mistaken about that. A pity. I would have dearly loved to see it."

"So would I, beloved," Galadriel said with a sigh, reminding herself to have Celeborn talk to Celebrían about Annatár and the danger he presented.

Yes, the picture he painted was, in many ways, all she had always wanted: Aman away from Aman. Only to her, that meant having all those she loved by her side again, and that, she knew, could not be promised even by this strange man.

Still, this seemed like the final proof that he was not who he said he was, since no Maia would ever claim such a thing. And she did not quite see why a well-intentioned man or elf would, either.

In fact, as if in a cruel parody, this was reminiscent of the fruit of The Enemy's lies in Aman, promising them the bliss of Middle-Earth, the sweet waters of Cuiviénen. Yes, Galadriel though, I know this story.

Combined with Avorneth's evidence, sweet words that lured her daughter were the last straw, and Galadriel exerted all of her energy in her efforts to finally meet Annatar in person.

She did so him in a forge, surrounded by jewel-smiths whose admiration for him was so clear it was almost palpable.

He obviously sensed her presence, because he turned and looked directly at her. He was a handsome nér, tall and fair with blue eyes that seemed like they hid nothing but honesty and kindness and nobility. She felt as if he hesitated, as if he considered something, perhaps how to greet her with most honour, and her doubts and fears about him were shaken. Surely this friendly-looking nér could mean no harm? The Enemy never looked so kind.

And then she felt his Unwill dissipate and for the shortest of moments, she could see his mind.

It was enough. She knew.

She had never met him before, of course, but she had passed by Tol-in-Gaurhoth many times in her travels north and she had felt the presence of his mind, the same mind she now felt clearly behind those blue eyes.

"You!" She exclaimed.

"My Queen?" He said, in a slightly confused tone.

And then he simply walked away, Galadriel staring after him in rage and fear.

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Galadriel felt like she was stuck in one of those nightmares she had heard Men speak about, where one could not move and could only watch a terrible situation unfolding.

Her other strong feeling was, over and over again: she had lived through this already.

She half-walked in those memories nowadays, of Valinor before its darkening and of words muttered into the ears of the Noldor, words of treason that were listened to because the one offering them had great skill in craft. Oh, Sauron learned well from his master.

There was no treason now, Galadriel's experience at least could take care of that, but that was all she could do. She did not know how to proceed. Tyelperinquar was right, Annatár did seem to only concentrate on doing his work and helping others, and she did not understand that. In Aman, there was no evil in the things the Enemy helped them create, it was in his words, and she was no craftswoman. She could not tell how he could use the help he offered for some darker purpose, she only knew he would.

She had intended to give the order to have Annatár expelled from the realm as soon as she learned of his identity, but when she looked into the eyes of those around her, she suddenly saw, in their unshielded minds, what would happen if she did.

None of them questioned her right to expel him, but they were also firmly decided that they would continue seeking him out beyond the borders of the realm. And that, Galadriel knew very well, could be much more dangerous. The Enemy did less damage when he was still in Tirion than after he ran away. And so, feelingly deeply unhappy about her decision, she let it be and only cautioned everyone to be careful around him as she hurried to call a council.

Her announcement of Annatár's identity was met by stunned silence.

"I should have known the Noldor would be the bane of this realm," Tavoron said then. "Their greed for pretty jewels led them to harbour our chiefest enemy in their midst!"

"This is a Noldorin realm," Tyelperinquar replied angrily. "If you dislike that, you shouldn't have come here."

"I followed my Lord Celeborn, but clearly, I've underestimated the degree to which he is under his wife's thumb!"

"I'm not under anyone's thumb, Tavoron!" Celeborn said sharply.

"Oh, truly? So the appointment of _Lady Feliel_ to this council…?"

"Many would say, _my lord_ , that it was rather your appointment that was the problem!" Feliel almost spat at him.

"People around Annatár say that," Tindómiel pointed out, "so surely-"

"You can't argue it's wrong just because it comes from him!" Feliel exploded. "You know it's true! Tavoron has been nothing but trouble from the start, and he detests me! It doesn't matter who says it-"

"If he is Sauron, then certainly-" Tindómiel argued.

"But is he?" Feliel cried.

"And here we are again, the Noldor defending their own monstrosity," Tavoron said in anger. "Of course Gorthaur would claim my placement in the council was a problem, he knows he has an opponent in me."

"Actually, he never even mentioned himself, _my lord."_ Feliel's tone now turned to bitter irony, uncomfortably reminiscent of Curufinwë. _"_ It was those of your beliefs that are not compatible with Noldorin values that he spoke of."

Tavoron opened his mouth to continue the discussion, likely to express his opinion on Noldorin values, when he was interrupted. "Quiet!" Celeborn called. "This is beside the point. We have Gorthaur in our realm-"

"Do we truly know that, though?" Tyelperinquar asked.

"I just saw his mind!" Galadriel exclaimed.

"But you do not know Sauron's mind intimately, do you? Or do you mean he admitted it to you?"

"No, but I know the shape of his thoughts," Galadriel said, stunned. She was astonished that she was being contradicted. Tyelperinquar knew the strength of her mind. The whole council did.

He frowned. "Well, I mean, Maiar thoughts are likely to be more complicated...when you think about how unlikely this accusation is...what did he say?"

"He acted surprised by my outrage, and left before I could do anything else."

"My Queen...I am not certain...I do not wish to devalue the perceptiveness of your mind, but this..."

"It is true," Quendingoldo agreed in his precise voice, "we cannot simply assume that it would be as easy to recognize Maian minds as elven and human ones."

"I knew Maiar in Aman-"

"Ah, but things worked very differently there, from what I have read."

"-and I knew Lady Melian-"

"Who was your close friend!" Tyelperinquar emphasized.

"So you wish me to just ignore this knowledge-" Galadriel asked incredulously.

"We cannot simply attack him," Aseanettë pointed out.

"Perhaps we could ask him?" Tyelperinquar suggested.

"What, 'forgive me, my lord, but are you Sauron'?" Tindómiel asked in amusement.

"I don't call him my lord, I call him my friend," Tyelperinquar replied sharply, "but yes, precisely like that. If he has a reasonable explanation why you would think him Sauron, well then..."

"You call Sauron your friend and are proud of it," Tavoron muttered angrily.

"Annatár always have a reasonable explanation for everything," Galadriel said at the same time, to Tyelperinquar.

"Well, do you not believe that should be a point in his favour?" Tyelperinquar asked, irritated. "I won't follow you unquestioningly any more, cousin. I don't idealize you as much as I used to anymore, and honestly, I'm starting to think he is right and you are blinded partly by your paranoia, and partly by your dislike of the Valar. I mean, it is a gift that he opened his mind to you at all. He did so to me only after years of friendship-"

"He opened his mind to you?" Galadriel asked, confused. As far as she knew, the Maiar could not hide thoughts in an open mind the way the Children could. If Annatár opened his mind to Tyelperinquar, he would have seen everything.

"Yes, and I certainly saw no Sauron. Just a friend. And he opens up to you – because he wants to make peace with you – and this is your reaction!"

"He only opened it for a split second, so I am not sure about the friendly overtures-"

"And yet you insist you identified him? He probably saw your reaction, and that is why he closed it again!"

"Is it not suspicious that he would not open his mind to you for so long, though?" Tindómiel tried.

"He has a right to privacy! He is a Maia, you cannot expect him to-"

Galadriel put up her hand to stop him. She had heard enough of this argument. "So," she said heavily, "you all agree that we should leave him be for now, and only ask him about the matter?"

Except Celeborn, Tindómiel and Tavoron, they all did.

So that was that.

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Galadriel did not dare leave her kingdom even for a day in such times, and would never bring anyone dear to her in from the outside to face Sauron, but she needed to speak with Artanáro – or at least Elrond, for in truth, she did not believe it wise for Artanáro to leave his kingdom either.

In the end, she sent Celeborn with the message, and then left her own palace like a thief in the night, crossed the river and headed to the Great Forest, where Elrond was already waiting for her. "Beloved," she said, embracing him tightly, and they only stood motionless for a long while. It had been too long. It was always too long.

"I heard you have a warning for us," he said then, "but we have one for you as well. One who calls himself Annatár appeared in our kingdom recently-"

"Did you grant him your ear?" She asked immediately, alarmed.

"No, we banished him from the realm. That was what I came to warn you about."

"Praise the Valar! He is the one my warnings are about as well."

"Do you know who he is?" He asked curiously.

"You do not?"

"No. Artanáro only felt very strongly he was not to he trusted, and I agreed with this opinion."

"Thank the Valar for your wisdom."

Elrond smiled. "Do not thank the Valar, Aunt, thank yourself. You are the one who taught us." He paused. "So, who is he?"

Of course they did not know. How would they? Elrond had not been alive yet, and Artanáro had been very young. Galadriel took a deep breath and replied: "Sauron."

Elrond's eyes widened in incredulity. "Himself?"

"Yes. Like his master before him, he can take on a fair form. You were lucky – he does not know you, and so he went to Artanáro directly, asking for support and reception. He underestimated the king, and gave you a chance to banish him. With us...Sauron knows me, remembers me from Beleriand, he heard my voice utter the curse. He approached my people first, and before I learned of it, he already had their trust. I put them on their guard to a degree, but I cannot convince them to cast him away, and I know that if I made it a royal order, they would only look for secret ways to meet him. I prefer to keep watch over it."

"Have you not told them who he was?"

"Oh, yes. But he claims he is, instead, another Maia of Aulë's, sent as a messenger from the Valar to us, and that I am mistaken in his identity. Recognizing the Maiar is hard, he says, harder than elves. It is no wonder your queen gets a little, ah, confused." Galadriel shuddered. "I do not believe him, but that is the worst part: I cannot be completely sure, can I? If I could, I believe I might have gone and gathered the remaining elves who remember the Light and attacked him directly, but that is the problem. I saw his mind, yes, but so did Tyelperinquar and he claims there is nothing wrong with him."

"Could he have been tricked somehow?" Elrond asked, frowning in thought and leaning on a tree that protested the treatment with a slight grunt. Elrond gave it an apologetic look and straightened again.

"I thought about it, yes," Galadriel said, "and it might be possible – arts of the mind are not Tyelperinquar's strongest suit, after all – but I have never heard of such a thing, and I know my council would laugh at me if I suggested it. And Annatár has not done anything I could fault him with as yet, and I cannot make an unprovoked attack on a guest in my realm."

Elrond sighed. "It is rather like the Elder King in Aman, is it not? He, too, could not act, and for similar reasons, from what you have told me."

"It is not quite like that, for the Enemy, though he did not attack, was spreading lies and discord. Annatár is not. That is the problem." Though it was true that in the last years, her sympathy for the Elder King had grown exponentially.

"Does he control them by his mind?"

"No. I wish he did. Then I could attempt to undo the spell, and I would not feel so...betrayed. No, there are no spells in this, only his cunning. The only thing I could do is make the people turn him away, but I cannot change their minds entirely...not without forcing them."

Elrond seemed worried, not missing the weight in her words. "Is the temptation very great?" He asked.

"Beyond anything I have ever known," she replied simply. "Before, it was always a land ruled by another that I was fighting to save. But this is _my_ kingdom, _my_ realm, and they are _my_ subjects." She paused. "I think I understand, now, why I was never Queen before. I have hope that I will resist this temptation. If it came fifteen hundred years ago, I know I could not have."

"Does Uncle…?"

"Yes, he stands by me, unwaveringly. Without his support, I would have given in already. But it is hard, beloved...so hard."

He embraced her. "You are the strongest person in Middle-Earth, Aunt. I know you can resist."

She smiled sadly at him. "There are different kinds of strength, and I am not certain I have much of what is required here. But that is one of the reasons I asked you to meet me here of all places."

She turned. The Eldest was standing to the side, watching them. "Thank you for coming, my lord," she said.

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Her visit with The Eldest helped for a time, but the temptation returned soon enough, in her despair and powerlessness. With every good word she heard said about Annatár it returned, with every new invention of his that she heard about. It was a constant battle, every hour of every day, one person at a time, turning away, and that voice in the back of her head always whispering: do something, they are your people, you have to protect them, this is your realm, this is everything you have ever dreamed of, do not let him take it away. He already took your brother, will you let him take this from you as well, this child of yours you have dreamed of for ages? You almost killed your child of flesh and blood, and now you will let this child of spirit and will die too? Do you even love anything beside yourself? What kind of Queen are you, unable to protect your own people from the most terrible servant of the Enemy? Not even the kings you called fools allowed him to walk freely in their realm. Do something, anything, do absolutely anything in your power to prevent the disaster…it does not matter any more, you are a monster already, you know that, what difference does it make if you make one step further in the abyss? This time, at least, it would not be for your selfishness, it would be to save your people...you are lost anyway, so just do it, do it...

It was in those voices that she saw Sauron's plan in full. There was no way for him to lose.

Either she would not give in, and her people would fall to him sooner or later, though she knew not how; or she would give in, and she, one of the last elves from Aman still in Middle-Earth and so one of the greatest dangers to him, would fall.

And seeing this, she wept, full of despair.

She dared not say anything about her temptations to anyone except Celeborn, for she feared how they would look at her if she did.

She looked out of the window of her chambers to the terrace bellow, where Celebrían was walking with Avorneth.

Galadriel was worried by that friendship for the first time in her life, because she knew Avorneth and her family could put Celebrían in Sauron's reach. She suspected this was how her daughter heard of Annatár's speeches about Aman away from Aman. Hopefully, though, the serious talk Celeborn had with their daughter would be enough. It seemed it was, at any rate. Her daughter's mind was open to her and Celebrían clearly believed Celeborn's warnings, took them seriously enough and never spoke to Annatár.

Perhaps it was also that he had no desire to speak to her. Celebrían was no skilled craftswoman and he knew that if Galadriel suspected but for a moment that her daughter was in danger, her caution would be lost and she would have attacked him, whatever the cost. After all, it was one of the things that had prompted her to confront him personally. It was not worth the risk for him, and for that, at least, she was grateful.

Celeborn stepped to her and embraced her from behind. "Have strength, my love."

"But how long, Celeborn? How long?"

"As long as will be needed, like before."

Galadriel, however, shook her head. "Before, we were waiting for the Valar to hear our pleas, for we knew we had no hope without them. But they won't come for Gorthaur, I know that. This is our fight. We were ready to take attack East two decades ago, but now? What can we do now?"

"We knew some of the scouts were caught," he said, pain in his voice. "We knew he'd know we were getting ready. We knew retribution would come."

"Yes, retribution! I expected that, I was ready for war, I _know_ war, I've lived in it for hundreds of years...but this, Celeborn? Eating at my realm from the inside, and I unable to do anything? This I didn't expect."

"He is the master of lies," was her husband's reply.

"Yes. I should have known it, I have seen Morgoth in Aman...and Gorthaur learned from the best. But when he readied his army in the East and built his tower, I really believed it would be a regular war, like before."

"It would have been, if we gave him enough time. But he hadn't been ready, and so he chose this instead."

Galadriel looked over her realm again. "Everything...they take everything from me," she muttered.

"It isn't over yet," Celeborn reminded her. "We'll fight him, if not with swords, then with words."

"Yes, we'll fight him," Galadriel replied tiredly. "But can we win?"

"What of your curse?"

"I said he'd never achieve his goal completely...but there is no saying how much he'll destroy in the attempt. I can't even curse anyone properly!"

"My love..."

"I'm so tired, Celeborn. So very, very tired. Resisting...every hour of every day...I'm so very tired."

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AN: I imagine the scene in the council much like the argument in Elrond's Council from the films.


	53. Running Away

**Chapter 53: Running Away**

 _Year 1340 of the Second Age, Hollin_

Every day, when Galadriel woke, she prayed.

She prayed to the One to keep her from falling, to keep her safe and in His grace, and to protect her realm from evil.

She prayed every night, too, to thank for another day that she survived without making that fatal step over the brink of the abyss.

And often, she prayed during the day as well, using every free moment to strengthen her resolve and replenish her energy.

If she could, she would spend as much of her time as possible in company of The Eldest, but she dared not leave her realm often, and in fact, did so less and less as time passed, becoming more and more exhausted for it.

Every moment that she was not praying or sleeping, she did her best to work against Sauron, fighting the temptation to simply _make_ her people listen every step of the way. She walked among them and spoke to them, listened to their woes and tried to help them as well as was possible, and warned them against Annatár as she did so. She told them not to trust his words and his kind appearance, to stay on their guard. They promised to do so, every time, but she could see that she would not get them to stop trusting him completely. "He is such a faithful friend," they said, "always had been. His advice always works. He has repaid our trust many times over."

 _And have I not earned your trust as well_ , Galadriel wanted to ask.

But she knew it was not a sensible question. Her people still trusted her, in all things...except when it came to Annatár, because about Annatár, they believed her to be mistaken. _Our queen means the best for us_ , she knew they thought, _and she wishes to protect us. She is simply wrong about whom to protect us from. Perhaps it is not surprising, she does not know Annatár well after all_. And the temptation was always there, waiting to _make_ them think differently.

Perhaps if she spent more time with 'Annatár', it would gain her some more trust, but she could not. The knowledge of who he was made her feel repulsed. This was the creature responsible for the death of her own brother, and Edrahil and Inglor too, and many others whose names she did not know. She could not spend more than a moment next to him without the desire to attack him becoming almost overwhelming, and she could not fight it along with fighting the other temptation.

Yet she knew that if she attacked him, she would lose her realm. Its people would turn against her. Still, she might have done it, if she was certain that by this sacrifice Sauron would be gone...but she did not know his strength exactly, and did not know if by doing so, she would not just lose everything in a futile attempt. Attacking alone or with only a few others, without an army she could trust at her disposal, was fraught with danger. _Changing the minds of your people, however, is not_ , her thoughts whispered.

Gildor had come to Hollin as soon as he learned from Elrond the identity of Annatár, desirous of attacking directly. When she explained her reservations, he said: "Let me attack, then. Let me go. Your people will not blame you for what I do."

"No," Galadriel had replied, "but my brother and your father both perished because they went to certain death against Sauron. I will not allow you to do the same."

He had departed only very unwillingly.

Galadriel considered asking for Lindon's army as well, but she did not believe it could get to them without Sauron finding out and escaping, and summoning a foreign army against her own could lose her her realm as well. And the dwarves, who could appear unexpected, were unwilling to get involved.

"He's your problem," king Fili told her. "I won't send my people to death just because you can't control yours."

It was bitterly true, and it took Galadriel a moment to respond. "Nevertheless," she said, "if he isn't checked, he'll become everyone's problem."

"Ha! Not so. We'll close the doors of Durin, and he'll never take Khazad-dûm by strength. I can promise you that."

"Even if that was true, he has other methods than strength. Guile."

"Dwarves are immune to that. It's you and Men who always believe everything someone puts up to you."

That, too, was very true, and Galadriel found she was out of arguments. King Fili was right in many ways. She knew she would likely be hesitant to risk her own people's lives to repair what she saw as his incompetence. And what else was it, truly, in her case? What kind of Queen was she when could not even protect her own realm from Sauron openly dwelling in it?

Perhaps this was for the best, she thought. Had I asked a dwarven army into my realm, it would have made me lose the support of my people as well, and the Sindar would have never forgiven me.

She was out of options, did not know what to do, and that made the temptation to fall even more acute.

 _Just a little nudge of your mind_ , her thoughts seemed to be always whispering to her, _just a very little one, to turn them away from Annatár, and all will be well again._

It was a lie, she knew. It would not be a little nudge. As with Túrin in Narogrotto, her people believed in Annatár being well-meaning too strongly for her to be able to show them the truth without bending their wills.

 _But it would be for their own good_ , her mind kept whispering. _It would be to protect them. You would not do any more than this one thing, what is the harm in that? It would be like breaking them out of Sauron's spell._

That was a lie too. Sauron did not have them under a spell. It would have been her who did, after she did this thing. There was all the harm in it.

Still, it was so difficult to resist, and growing more difficult with every minute, as her exhaustion reached new levels.

She stopped leaving the capital, not having the strength to face those who were under the strongest sway of Sauron, even if she knew they needed her the most. But they represented the biggest temptation.

Then she stopped leaving the palace, for the enthusiasm of the jewel-smiths for their inspiration and benefactor was such that she sometimes had to almost run from their company to prevent herself from falling.

Then, she began to find it too difficult to even leave her chambers.

The end came when Tyelperinquar could not quite restrain himself from fantastic tales about Annatár during the council once again, and when Galadriel spoke in some sharpness against the so-called benefactor, his eyes shifted. "What is it?" The watchful Queen asked immediately.

"Cousin...they're saying things about you."

"Things?" They had been saying things about her before, and it never ended well, but it had never been in her own realm.

"They say that you...fear him, fear his influence, that you're...jealous, my lady, that your strength has been waning..."

"And you listen to such talk?" Celeborn thundered, and the younger elf's eyes gleamed with a challenge.

"Leave him be, my love," Galadriel restrained her husband quietly. "It's well that he told us."

"It's the lies Annatár spreads, lies and discord! It's begun already!"

Even before Tyelperinquar could deny it, Galadriel shook her head. "It's not him," she said. "He's too clever for that. Perhaps he hints sometimes, but...in truth, he only needed to stay silent, perhaps even defend me at times, and let me continue speaking against him. My good people did the rest." She looked into the distance. Have they ever truly accepted her as queen? How many only came to Hollin because they missed the forests and the mountains, and she offered them a kingdom to live in? Or because they liked the opportunity to build a new realm, after most work was done in Lindon? How many have ever truly been loyal to her?

"Tindómiel," she said tiredly to her friend, "could you please travel the realm for me and find out how bad it is?"

The lady departed almost immediately.

She returned a week later, a week Galadriel spent shut in her rooms, seeing it as the only way to prevent herself from intervening, from falling. The council was quickly called. Tindómiel's face was pale and haggard.

"It's bad," she said plainly. "Especially in the outer parts of the realm, they are now speaking openly against you and saying Tyelperinquar should rule, as he is the one from the council who truly understands how important Annatár is for the realm-" the Noldo flinched, but Tindómiel continued, "but even closer to the capital, and in the capital itself...well, the talk is a little less open, the people are a little more careful, but they talk just as much."

"What does that mean?" Aseannettë asked quietly.

"It means," Galadriel replied, "that I've lost."

"My love, no!" Celeborn cried.

"Yes. I've been fighting this battle for decades now, and I am beyond exhausted. It could never last forever." Galadriel felt as if she was in a daze, strangely disconnected from the reality of her situation for the moment. Her thoughts were floating through her head, seemingly without her will influencing them in any way. Perhaps she did not have a will any more. Perhaps with her kingdom, she had lost her mind as well. She stared into the distance, her eyes unfocused. "I've lost," she said in a detached voice, "and the only thing that remains is do what we did in Nargothrond. I'll ask those who trust me to leave with me, and we'll go."

There was a very long silence in the council.

"Where?" Aseanettë asked, then, desperate.

Galadriel thought for a moment, of Lindon with all those who genuinely loved her and whom she trusted, where she could be safe and perhaps even comfortable once again. Perhaps even happy. She was sure that her mind would come back to her in Lindon.

But...it was also a fortnight's ride from Hollin, if one travelled very fast. If she went to Lindon, she would give up on her kingdom forever. And in spite of everything, she could not do that. Perhaps with a bit of time away, she would get better, and then she would be able to at least help from a distance, from safety, from a place where she could no longer harm her people by bending them to her will. "To Lindórinand, for a while," she said. "Amdír will accept us, and we'll decide more later." She looked at her council. "Will you come with me?"

"Yes, my lady," Aseanettë said immediately. "Of course."

Celeborn only pressed her hand – there had never been any question with him, of course.

Tindómiel and Quendingoldo exchanged a long look. "We'll have to discuss it," Tindómiel said, and Galadriel felt as if she was punched. Not even Tindómiel…? But then the daze returned. It did not matter. Nothing mattered. "Is there immediate danger, do you think?" The lady asked.

"Not immediate, no. I still don't know what is Gorthaur's plan." She saw Tyelperinquar flinch at her calling Annatár by his true name, as he always did, but in her disconnected state, she only registered the information, without being upset by it in any way. "It might only truly begin after I'm gone, but clearly it isn't simply to kill all elves of Hollin, and so it will take time for him to realize."

Tindómiel nodded. "Then we will likely not go immediately. It'll take us time to decide."

Of course it would. Quendingoldo was not known for his quick decision skills.

Tavoron said he would go, unsurprisingly, and Feliel expressed her wish to wait and take time to decide like Tindómiel, and so Galadriel turned to the last remaining. It was hopeless, but she still had to ask. "And you?" She asked Tyelperinquar.

"Cousin..., I...I'm certain we're on the brink of a great discovery, and..."

"That's quite enough for me. Sarnel?"

Sarnel shook her head. "I'm the commander of your armies," she said. "I won't run from an enemy. I'll protect the realm for you. Besides, I have to stay by my husband."

"Very well then." Perhaps Galadriel would have argued, if she was not so very tired. _Make her go with you_ , the voice in her head said, _you owe Artanáro that much, she is his daughter, you have to save her, make her go!_ And her visions came then, too, of fire and death and suffering, and of ruins of her beloved realm. She barely had the strength to speak as she said weakly: "This realm will fall, eventually. You wish to stay nevertheless?"

Sarnel nodded, her face stony. "Even more so, then. I swore to protect it, and I'll keep that oath. The people of Hollin will need me."

"Do you believe I am breaking my oath?" Galadriel did not feel like she cared too much, at the moment.

"Your reasons are your own, Aunt. You know best what your conscience tells you. I know what mine tells me."

"Well, then. I'll pass the rule to you and your husband once I leave..." Ass she said that, the daze seemed to recede for a moment as something in her revolted at the idea, and she added forcefully: "But you'll never have the crown." She paused. "Speak to your children, too. Celebrían will be coming with us, I expect. She should know how many friends she will have to say farewell to."

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Galadriel knew with cold certainty that if she had not known what evil now dwelt in Middle-Earth, and that her help would be needed once the open fight came, she would have faded then and there, her daughter and husband notwithstanding.

Instead, she spoke to her people from a terrace of her palace, asking them to leave, and packed what she could for a journey. All the time, she was shaking, shaking with the effort of simply staying aware and alive and not falling, with the effort that cost her all the remnants of her strength.

She knew she needed to leave immediately if she was to leave at all, if she was to prevent a disaster from happening, but those of her people who would go with her needed time to prepare, so she decided to go ahead through Hadhodrond and have Celeborn lead her people after her over the mountains some days later.

Celeborn agreed to the plan, with one slight change: Celebrían would go with her. He wished to see her in safety, and Galadriel agreed.

Now all their things were packed, and they stood in front of the palace, ready to mount their horses.

Galadriel made the mistake of wanting to look over her realm for one last time.

The urge to take it all back, now, was suddenly so overwhelming that she staggered, and she almost reached out with the first tendrils of her thoughts already when Celeborn caught her. "My love," he said sharply, pulling her back.

She gave him a wide, panicked look and then turned without a word and jumped on her horse, galloping away.

She vaguely heard Celebrían asking Celeborn something and then the hoofs of her horse following her, but she had to concentrate with all of her will on just that one thing: getting away.

If she did not leave now, her resolve would break and she would fall.

She did not speak a word to Celebrían as they rode through the forest and up to the Gates of Khazad-dûm, and barely spoke even to the dwarves who welcomed them and escorted them through, too lost in the prison of her mind, in her regrets and despair.

"We're in a hurry," she heard Celebrían say, in a tone that was somewhat less calm than usual. "Please excuse Mother."

She should probably say something to that, she thought vaguely.

She could not think of anything, though.

The halls of Khazad-dûm flashed around her as if in a dream. A kingdom, she thought. A mighty kingdom. I had one of those once, too...but no more. It was all gone now. All the glory.

She thought of the crown of Hollin that was packed in her bags, Why did she take it with her? There was no point. Perhaps she should gift it to the dwarves, she was sure they would appreciate the jewels in it. But then, it seemed like too much work. She would have to speak to them to do that, surely. So she just rode on.

The light blinded her when they emerged on the other side of the mountains. Perhaps I have faded, and these are Halls of Mandos, she thought idly. But then, she had always imagined those to be more muted grey. This blinding light was more like what she imagined the Second-born encountered after death.

It seemed she was not quite so lucky, and that she would have to continue struggling and would have to face her failure and loss.

Not now, though. In time. Now, if she tried to face it, she would go insane.

When they arrived to Lindórinand, all she could do was ask Amdír for shelter for herself and her daughter. "My people will come later too, more of them," she said, "but...please, I need rest, now."

Amdír, looking very alarmed, personally escorted her to a guest house, and there, Galadriel fell into exhausted sleep.

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She was drowning in grief.

She hardly remembered their arrival in Lindórinand, or being led anywhere, but when she woke up, the grief hit her almost immediately. It was everywhere, all around her, all-encompassing. _I failed, I lost, I gave it all up_...grief, grief, grief.

She went over every mountaintop in the valley of Hollin in her mind, over every bush of holly, every carefully carved bit of marble and stone, and cried bitter tears for all of this being lost to her. She loved every inch of that realm, every plant that grew there, every animal that lived...every elf.

Oh, would they all die because she left them? Would they all perish in flames?

A small bit of resentment surfaced then, at the way they had all abandoned her, even those from her own council. Almost the only one who stood by her at the end was Tavoron, and he detested her! She was reduced to having her only supporter in an elf whose opinions were the opposite of her own!

But then she thought about how she failed them all, and realized she deserved to be abandoned in this way.

 _What did you expect?_ She told herself. _You are a monster._

Was this a punishment from Eru, she wondered, for her terrible impulse to kill her own daughter? But surely...her people would pay for this. He would not punish her with something others paid for, would he?

But then, perhaps they would not pay. Perhaps they would now live happily under Tyelperinquar. Perhaps she had been wrong the whole time.

And here it was again, grief, grief, grief.

But then she remembered her vision of fire and death, and realize that no, this was not wrong. Her visions did not lie. Her people would perish. If only she had a way of showing them, letting them know…

She thought of all the kings she considered her inferiors. Would they have succeeded where I have failed?

Suddenly, her mind went to Lord Ciryatan. She did not usually think of him in this way – he was no king, after all – but now she realized...when Falas was in danger, he led his people away and safely took them to Balar, and they followed. He had ruled over them for centuries and millennia, unchallenged mostly even after his marriage to Arminas, which many resented. He had their loyalty, more so than any other king she knew.

Of course, he was a Sinda, so that made it a little different – Sindar took obedience to their lords even more seriously than the Noldor, and there was no leeway – but still...perhaps it should have been him to whom she looked up to for her model of a ruler. Perhaps had he been in her place, he could have led the people from Hollin, or most of them, anyway. Perhaps from Narogrotto, too.

Grief, grief, grief.

She thought of failed kings, then, of the company she could now rightly count herself among. Of Finwë, abandoning his people for a whim. That, at least, she had never done.

And Fëanáro, leading them into danger and death...that she had done, though not as a queen, but in Narogrotto. And she, at least, had been more desperate. Surely that made some difference?

She realized, suddenly, that she was as old now as Fëanáro had been when he drew a sword on her uncle. She wanted to laugh.

 _What did you know, my uncles, what did you know of life back then?_ She thought. And yet, the parallel was uncanny. The Enemy, plotting their downfall, and they, blindly following the script set out for them.

She thought about the Silmarils, and the Oath. Hollin, she knew, had been her Silmaril. If there had been a way to get it back, she wondered, would she have been willing to swear such a terrible oath as well?

She could not say for certain, and that made her despair.

Grief, grief, grief.

Slowly, though, as if from a mist, its companion began to emerge as she become more aware of her changed circumstances: relief.

Her decision was made. She had left them, left them all – oh, how it _hurt_ – but there was no need to fight any more. No more days which would require all of her strength to get through, no constant, desperate fear that she would lose, lose and fall forever, no guilt every time she looked into one of her subjects' eyes and remembered what she considered doing, every minute of every day.

No more of that.

In spite of everything, she felt almost light in some ways.

She rose, dressed and did her hair, and when she unlocked the door and tried to leave her room, she found Celeborn at the other side of the door. "My love," she said, surprised. "You are here already."

"Yes," he replied. "You rested for a very long time. How are you feeling?"

"Grieved," she replied, "but...free."

His eyes widened, and she laughed a dark laugh. "Yes," she conceded, "I see the irony. The one thing I've always longed for, and I feel relieved when I'm finally free of it. Such is the Doom, I suppose." Then her words turned darker. "But I'll never, never forgive Gorthaur for doing this to me, and I'll bring about his end by all means that are at my disposal..." the world seemed to teeter on edge for a moment, and then she added: "...and that don't go against the One."

She smiled in spite of herself at Celeborn's relieved expression. "Don't worry, love, I haven't fought for so long only to give in now that we're finally away," she said lightly, making the fight seem easier than it was – but then, compared to what she lived through in Hollin, it _was_ like nothing. "But I add this promise to my curse, and I hope he hears me."

That seemed to make Celeborn worried anew, and there was something on his mind Galadriel did not entirely understand. She took his hands, looked into his eyes and concentrated...and flinched, for what she saw was her grief after Itarillë's departure, after Nolofinwë's and Findekáno's death, and her brothers', and Elros'...and she saw her grief upon leaving her kingdom, too, through Celeborn's eyes, and realized the source of his concern: that state of her mind was like nothing he had ever witnessed before.

She flinched. "What do you think of me?"

He was unable to answer, guilt and fear swimming in his mind.

"Don't you see...my love, don't you see how very tired I am? Had I been this tired when Fingon died, I'd have faded on the spot. I almost faded when I was leaving as it was."

"No! You didn't...I didn't..."

"I did, my love. You were too worried to see. It doesn't matter. I'm better now. Still tired, yes, but I'll rest here, and we'll be well." And her realm would die. No! _Do not think about that_ , she ordered herself.

"I wish to see Amdír now," she said aloud.

"Are you certain you are strong enough?"

She sighed. "No," she admitted plainly, "but I have to see him nevertheless. I'll manage. It won't be a long talk, and it's important."

Amdír was in his house, and he bowed respectfully before her. "Queen Galadriel," he said.

She shook her head at him. "I left my realm. I am no Queen."

"Yet your people followed you here, at least some of them. To them, you're still Queen."

She was too tired to argue. "It's their future I wish to speak to you about," she said instead, "their and ours. How long are we allowed to stay?"

"As long as you wish, naturally...if, that is, your people are willing to become full subjects of Lindórinand."

"And accept your as their king." She said it without bitterness, but he still gave her a sharp look.

"I can't-" he started.

"I know, Amdír. You can't have people disloyal to you in your realm, not so many for too long. I'd have done the same in your place."

He nodded, grateful for her understanding. "You and Celeborn are both welcome on my council," he said. "I'm even willing to make you my first councillor, if it'll make things easier for your people."

"And what about your people, won't they mind?"

"Galadriel, you brought so many with you that you now form almost a quarter of our population. They'll understand your people need to be represented."

"Even more so, then – won't they fear they'll be made strangers in their own land?"

He seemed to be amused by the idea. "You still don't have the majority. You haven't brought that many. And it much depends on you, and the behaviour of your people, how you'll be treated here. The Silvan won't think about it in this way at all – it wouldn't occur to them that we had any right to prevent anyone who wants to settle in the forest, and they don't care who sits on my council – and if you're worried about my Sindarin lords...The ones who truly resented the Noldor stayed with Oropher, mostly. The ones I brought with me...they don't hate you and yours. They might be...protective of the Sindarin culture and way of life, yes, but unless you try to disrupt that, they won't mind you on the council."

This tugged at something in Galadriel's mind, something she felt she should protest against, but she was still too tired to think about it. She nodded her understanding. "Thank you, Amdír. I'm more grateful than I can express."

"You resent this."

"Of course I resent this!" She exploded. "Only a few days ago, I was a queen of my own kingdom, now I'm reduced to a beggar." She took a shaky breath to calm herself. "But my bitterness isn't your concern, and I'll do my best not to display it. For I truly am grateful, and if I have any other emotion towards you, I know it isn't just and I apologize that I'm not fully able to free myself of it yet and that you have to be bothered by it. I am too exhausted to hide it, and I judged you'd have liked it even less had I shielded my mind."

He inclined his head. "You can see my mind," he replied, "and you know that all of the thoughts there do not entirely give me credit either."

"No one's thoughts give them credit entirely," she replied. That was a truth she had learned long ago.

"Very true, I imagine. So there is no reason for you to apologize."

She smiled a little at this, in spite of herself. "You brought it up!"

"So I did. Forgive me, I just...the emotion was too strong for the moment."

Galadriel could only nod. It was very strong indeed.


	54. Powerless

AN: Sorry for being late with this, my plan of "I'm at home for a whole day between two holiday, it'll be plenty of time to post" didn't quite work out.

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 **Chapter 54: Powerless**

 _Year 1470 of the Second Age, Lindórinand_

Hollin became another wound on Galadriel's weary spirit, next to the losses of all of her loved ones. This one took long to heal, though – or, not to heal, because the wounds never healed outside of Aman, but for the pain to become less all-consuming. She felt like she had lost part of her own soul with her realm. _I was right_ , she thought, _it was my Silmaril_. And if Fëanáro felt like this when they were taken from him...well, then perhaps, perhaps she could understand.

For a very long time, she mostly kept to her room in the house Amdír had provided for her family, and the only thing she could spare a thought for was whether the people who followed her to Lindórinand were taken care of. So she asked Celeborn about them, and implored him to help them in any way he could.

She, herself, could not face them.

So she stayed inside except for when some important matters Celeborn brought her forced her to reach the reserves of her strength and briefly discuss something with Amdír. For a long time, too, she only allowed her husband to enter her room, and no one else.

Celeborn spent much of his time with her, in fact, even though he had many other things to do: make sure Celebrían and Avorneth did not despair, and that the refugees from Hollin were well. Galadriel felt guilty about piling these burdens on him, but for the longest time, she simply did not have the strength to do anything.

When he was gone from her, she prayed or thought or simply remembered while he did most of her work, as Galadriel slowly dealt with her grief and pain.

It was difficult, when her realm was still just beyond the mountains, seemingly within her reach. She knew that was an illusion. She could not even hold the realm while she still lived there. If she came back now, they would laugh at her. Still, it was hard not to constantly dwell on it, not to long for those mountaintops and bushes of holly so much it almost hurt, not to wonder how those she loved were doing and whether they were, at least now, wary of Annatár. It was a vain hope, she knew.

It was a vain hope that did not contribute to her getting better, and so, day after day, she forced herself to turn away from that past and accept what was her present.

She had to accept that Lindórinand was her home, and her people were only those who came with her. It was time to act like their queen, even if she no longer had the right to that title. Her crown stayed in her chambers, locked up in a chest, but her responsibility did not simply go away.

And so, gradually, she forced herself first out of bed, making herself at least walk around the room and sit behind the table during the day as she thought.

Then she forced herself out of her room, into the common area where she could speak to her daughter and Avorneth, too, and ask about their days and be distracted by their conversation from her own pain.

It gave her a new one, of course, guilt for being absent so long when her daughter and niece needed her, and so she devoted as much of her time to the two of them as she could now, listened to the stories they told her of their life in Lindórinand and what they liked about it and what they found strange.

She gave them what she could, and drew some healing from them too, but still, it took her much longer to make that other step and force herself to leave the house.

She did, though, eventually, and took walks with Celeborn or one of the girls, or both, even. They showed her the most beautiful places in the forest, first in the vicinity of the capital and then further and further away as her strength returned and spirits improved.

And one day when Celeborn came back from an outing with Celebrían, Galadriel welcomed him sitting at her desk. "I'm ready for work," she said.

He smiled at her. "I am happy to hear that, my love. Do you need my help?"

"Certainly. First, tell me, how many followed me from Hollin?" What Amdír said when she first spoke to him gave her some hope in this regard, but she needed to know exactly.

He hesitated.

"How many, Celeborn?"

"A little over five thousand."

A little over five thousand. That was all. Not even as much as a fourth. Only five thousand went with her, the rest chose to stay with Tyelperinquar – or, more precisely, with Annatár.

Fury crept into her mind, fury and regret and guilt. Keep yourself in check, she told herself firmly. However many there are, you need to care for them.

"Who? I mean, what groups, what is the composition?"

"The vast majority of the Sindar came, excepting only a few hundreds of those born in Hollin, usually those who have Noldorin spouses or other strong ties there."

That meant most of those who came were Sindar. She should not be surprised, of course – they had little to keep them in Hollin, not having any interest in Annatár's teachings – but given Tavoron and others' open contempt of Feliel, she could not help but wonder if part of those who went went for the same reason their parents, perhaps, originally abandoned Lindon: they hoped for a realm where the Select would be less tolerated, where there would be no Select weddings to witness.

Amdír was one of them, after all. Perhaps they thought he would keep to Singollo's practice, even though Galadriel herself knew it could not be true, with so many Silvan elves in the realm. But they might not.

She found the idea that the loyalty of a significant part of those who came with her was not loyalty at all repulsive.

"Do you know what were their reasons?" She asked.

Celeborn understood what she meant immediately. "I...prefer not to ask." He said. "But some of the things I saw or heard...yes, you're right. Some of those who came with us were at least partly guided by their...prejudice, still. I know some said they only chose to go when they heard that Feliel was staying behind."

"Why can't I at least respect those who chose to follow me?" Galadriel asked in frustration, then shook her head. "What of the Noldor?"

"Almost two thousand. In these cases, it's mostly the older ones, those who remember Lindon and who came with us."

"So those who were born in my realm..." _betrayed me_. Galadriel forbid herself to think of it that way.

Celeborn saw it in her mind anyway, though, and he said a little desperately: "My love...please understand them. They were born in that realm, as you say. They never knew any other. Leaving it would be more difficult for them than for the older elves."

"Yet they should have had less trouble seeing me as the undisputed queen, given that they always knew me as such. They should have listened to me." She shook her head again. "But it doesn't matter, not any more. Those who came, came. Any of the council members joined us?"

"No others, my love," he said heavily. "Of our friends, only Aseanettë and Avorneth came."

Galadriel closed her eyes. Not even her advisers, those who were closest to her…

"They might still come," Celeborn hastened to add. "They said they needed time to think. It's only been a few decades, and from what we know, it seems Hollin is still without direct danger from Gorthaur."

Yes, the might still come...Galadriel had some doubts, though.

As it turned out, however, Celeborn had been right - in a way. Tindómiel did come, not too long later, but not to live in Lindórinand.

Galadriel was overjoyed to see her and welcomed her with a warm embrace and a laugh, but she could see Tindómiel was much more reserved than was usual for her. There was something on her mind.

"We have discussed the situation in detail, Quendingoldo and I," she said once she was seated in Galadriel's house and drinking the wine imported from Greenwood – very good wine, she had to admit, better than they ever got in Hollin - "and...we have decided to sail."

Galadriel's eyes widened, all thoughts of wine leaving her. She had never expected this, and it took her a moment to answer. "To sail?" She could only repeat, wonderingly.

"Yes," Tindómiel said heavily. "We both feel too tired of finding new places to make our home. We have both abandoned a few, Quendingoldo more so than me, of course, and we do not feel like we have the strength. We wish to go home, to a home that could last forever."

Galadriel considered this, still reeling from the surprise. "Have you considered returning to Lindon?" She suggested weakly. Not that Lindon was not almost as impossible to reach for her now as Aman was, but still, it would perhaps not be permanent. If Tindómiel went to Lindon, Galadriel could perhaps see her again in a few centuries or so. If she sailed...

Tindómiel shook her head. "Perhaps Quendingoldo would be willing, though I am not sure – he is older than me, and tires of this shore – but I...well. Lindon never truly felt like home to me, contrary to Hollin. It was a place where I was always teased by the relative closeness of my dying family, a place where I never quite fitted in. No, I do not wish to return to Lindon."

 _I knew that_ , Galadriel though. _I should not be surprised. I was supposed to give her a home, and I failed her. Now her husband will take her where no ills can reach her_. She took a deep breath. "Well then. I can hardly stop you from going. Will you carry letters for me?"

"Yes, of course." Tindómiel gave her a long look. "I am sorry," she said then.

 _Yes, so am I_. "Do not be. You have the right to this choice."

"Yes, but...I feel like I am abandoning you."

Galadriel felt abandoned too, still gutted by this unexpected departure, but she ruthlessly pushed the feeling back and took Tindómiel's hand in hers. "You do not owe me anything, beloved. If something, it was me who promised your father I would always protect you, and I failed in that."

"You did not. I am still alive and well, am I not, and once I sail, I will be alive and well forever. That should be an adequate fulfilment of the promise."

"Yet you say you never felt at home in Lindon, and the one elven realm where you did feel at home, I let fall."

Tindómiel gave her a worried look. "Aunt...I was truly, blissfully happy in Hollin, in a way I had not been even in Númenórë. You gave me a home like no one else could have. And then, Sauron chose you as the focus of his singular attention. You can hardly blame yourself for not withstanding him."

Galadriel laughed bitterly. "Can I not? I was always so certain that I was fit to be a queen. Here I have it. Unable to protect my realm. What more definite failure as a ruler can I be?" Tindómiel opened her mouth, clearly intending to argue, but Galadriel shook her head, trying not to think about how Tindómiel was one of the very few people left in Middle-Earth she could tell these things to, and the only one to know her deepest secret. She would be so much more alone once Tindómiel sailed… "Let us not speak of me," she said firmly. "This is the last time I see you, do I understand it correctly?"

Tindómiel hesitated, but then inclined her head. "I fear so, yes. We intend to sail relatively soon, before things become worse."

"Then let us spend time in pleasanter talk, and remember the happy memories we share. I need that now, I think." _I need something to distract me._

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There were moments when Galadriel caught herself, horrified, wishing that the ruin of Hollin would come already, for then at least it would have been a wound firmly in the past, and thoughts of going back there and taking control of it would not be surfacing any more.

But compared to the temptation that she had faced while she was still there, this was only a mild bother in her everyday life, and hardly noticeable next to the pain of loss, and so she aimed to distract herself with work and with exploring her new home.

It was new, and strange at the beginning, to live in a realm where the vast majority of population was Silvan – though those arriving from Hollin changed the dynamics a little. All of the realm's original Sindar lived in Caras Aran, the capital, around Amdír's royal house. It was the only city in the realm not to be composed of houses in the flets, or had been before the refugees from Hollin came. The Sindar among them settled the city, too. There were very few Silvan elves there, mostly those who were connected to households of various Sindar either by marriage – very rarely – or by doing some kind of work for them. They were always easily distinguished from their Sindarin kin, since even though they had the same silver hair and green eyes, originating from those Teleri in the Great Journey who chose to stay east of the Misty Mountains, their style of clothing and hair was completely different. Contrary to the Sindar, they tended to wear bright colours and refrain from being too ornamental. Instead, their dresses and robes were cut in a way unknown to Galadriel, so that just the cut, in itself, could made the clothes beautiful without any need for embroidery or jewellery. She was also reminded of the Second-born in how often the Silvan wore trousers, and that their skirts were often shorter than full length. She supposed it made climbing to the flets easier.

Most of them lived scattered around Lindórinand in small villages up among the branches of the great trees. Galadriel most often met them as she walked in the forest, trying to calm her troubled mind. It was, of course, always limited in success. It was impossible that a walk in such a forest, full of light, song and laughter of elves, would not remind her of Lúthien and of all those she lost in Doriath.

Celeborn, she knew, suffered from this even worse, and in fact for that reason hardly accompanied her on her longer walks now that she was better. She asked him about the mellyrn seeds, hoping to make more of a home for herself in Lindórinand, and to differentiate it from Doriath in her memories, but he said the same thing he had said in Hollin: yes, they would grow, but they would also die soon afterwards, for they were not made for Middle-Earth. And so Galadriel kept them unsowed. She could not face mellyrn dying. It would have been too much symbolism for her to bear.

Solitude on her walks was good for her, though. It was the best way to clear her head.

Besides, her legs often brought her to the edges of the forest and to the mountains, where most of the Noldor decided to settle. They did not like living in a forest, but the mountains allowed them to feel almost at home, though they saw them from the other side now. Galadriel helped them organize and solve problems in the town they founded, and communicated with Amdír for them. They were, after all, still her people.

Sometimes her legs took her even further, to the gates of Hadhodrond that opened to this side of the mountains, and indeed inside the realm, too, to consult with its king. It was the dwarves who gave her most news of her old kingdom now, dwarves and eagles.

It was also through Hadhodrond any visitors from Hollin ever came. Tindómiel did not return, and was gone West now, but Sarnel came sometimes for a brief visit, and so did Mírdan.

"I think Tyelperinquar is too ashamed to come," she said. "Not that he believes he was wrong, he still trusts Annatár fully – especially now, in fact, since they are preparing some kind of new and amazing project, better than anything he had ever done before, Tyelperinquar says - but be feels he treated you badly all the same, and feels like he has no right to rule Hollin."

 _He feels that correctly_ , Galadriel though. Aloud, however, she only said: "I gave the two of you the realm myself."

"Yes, but still." She hesitated. "I...spoke to my father."

"He came to Hollin?" Galadriel asked, alarmed. She did not wish Artanáro to meet Sauron. Who knew if the Maia would not think the chance to kill the High King too good to miss, even if it did cost him Hollin.

She was also alarmed because she dreaded speaking to Artanáro herself. She had failed his daughter and his grandchildren. If Sarnel stayed where she was, she would perish sooner or later. It was a thought even Galadriel herself refused to face, and to read that knowledge in Artanáro's face...she could not face him. She had only recently managed to leave her house, after all. Leaving Lindórinand was still difficult, and so was getting any closer to Hollin. Artanáro, she could not handle. She kept her mind open to his, but she shied away from his mental touch. At least over the distance that separated them, it was not too apparent, she hoped.

"No," Sarnel explained. "I met with him in the Great Forest. You inspired me by your meeting with Elrond, you see?" She smiled a little sadly. "He seemed...mostly astonished when he heard about you leaving, to be honest. Even though he knew what was going on, I feel...well, I feel he just never imagined you could be bested by anyone."

Galadriel felt bitter and ashamed all at once. "Well," she said, "I think I did not either. What did he say?"

"He was quite angry with Tyelperinquar, which I suppose was to be expected. He also seems to agree with you about Annatár's identity and the danger he presents."

"Of course he does agree with me."

"Yes, but then he never met him properly, did he? He only has your word to go on." Sarnel shook her head. "I still do not know. Two people I both love and trust are telling me such entirely different things...I agree with you that some of this is suspicious, but then again he truly is not doing anything wrong. You know I have him watched. I simply do not know."

"Well," Galadriel replied, "I fear you will know soon enough." Once again, she thought about how much she wished she could easily share her visions and insight, make people see. "Did your father have any message for me?" She asked, changing the topic.

Sarnel assented. "He sends a letter, and so do Elrond and Laurefindil."

Galadriel noticed her hand shaking when she took the notes from her niece.

"I will leave you in peace to read it," Sarnel said, "and go speak to my daughter."

Galadriel nodded. "Avorneth misses you," she muttered, already opening the letters.

They all expressed deep sympathy and none of them blamed her, she soon found. There was so much kindness and love in the writing – and good humour in case of Lord Laurefindil, who did his best to cheer her – that she had to return to her house and sit, and then, holding the letters in her hands and looking at them, silent tears started to roll down her cheeks. She missed them, she missed Hollin, and she felt so very, very far away from everyone it almost hurt.

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Galadriel and Celeborn both became Amdír's counsellors, as promised, and Galadriel fell back to a role she knew so well, from Hithlum and Narogrotto and Lindon – thought it was unlike it as well. They had good relations with Amdír now, but he would never be as close to her as the High Kings of Noldor were, or even her brother. And he was stronger than Artaresto had ever been, so her work was different in this respect as well.

It was new, too, to have Celeborn so firmly part of the king's close council – his position there was better than hers, and she had not known this before. He had been closer to Singollo than her, of course, but he had not been on the council then, and she had been less involved in political work in that realm. But here, they both helped the king rule, and he was the one more trusted.

He was finally living in a forest again, too, a place that was more familiar to him than any he had dwelt in since they left Doriath. In a way, this was a reversal of roles.

Perhaps the most prominent difference in the political life in Lindórinand, however, was that Oropher's envoys came very often, and then, finally, the King of Greenwood came himself.

Galadriel knew very well that he normally came much more often and that he had stayed away the last almost century on her account. It took Amdír quite some work to convince him otherwise, and he still demanded that she not be present in the council.

"...and she still treats with the dwarves!" She heard him shouting from the council hall.

"That is Galadriel's private activity. I can hardly forbid her that."

"Yes, but it shows you where her loyalties are, does it not? Never with the Sindar!"

This was the moment when Galadriel entered, giving Oropher such a cold look that he recoiled a little. "It's fortunate," she said, "that Amdír is king in this realm, not you, and so it's him who decides the members of his council."

Amdír shifted in his seat at those words, and Oropher scoffed. "He departed Greenwood as my subject, and my subject he will remain, no matter where he lives or what title he holds. He might be my friend and cousin, but it's me who has Thingol's blood."

Galadriel gave Amdír a quick glare, promising a talk later. He should have told her this was how Oropher saw it, he should have warned her. "Nevertheless," she said aloud, "you recognize his title of king, and surely choosing his own council is part of that?"

"Yes, fortunate for you indeed, for if I had more direct control of this realm, you'd never have been accepted here."

She raised her eyebrows at him. "If you'd had more direct control of this realm, I'd never have sought refuge in here in the first place."

"Good, perhaps then you'd have been brave enough to stay and protect your own realm, not run away like you always do."

Amroth let out a shocked gasp. "King Oropher!" Amdír said sharply, managing to startle his cousin out of his anger by the formal address a little. "You're in my realm, and you overstep."

"Oropher always knew how to cut where it hurt," Galadriel said calmly, "but he never learned that I can't be provoked into doing something I don't wish to do. I won't leave this council however much you try, _nephew_ , so wouldn't it be better to get to work instead?"

"I'm no nephew of yours!" He spat. "My blood is not tainted by that of kinslayers."

Celeborn seemed to be rapidly losing his tempter, so Galadriel put a calming hand on his forearm. _Don_ _'_ _t give him the satisfaction_ , she said to his mind. She swallowed her first response, which would have been 'no, only of thieves' – she never forgot that Singollo kept the Dwarven Necklace to which he had no right – and instead, said: "You're right, your mistakes are your own." Amroth snorted at that, quietly, and she gave him a softly chiding look before she asked: "Shall we?"

Oropher was clearly getting ready for another scathing reply, but Amdír raised his hand. "You agreed to come, cousin, when you knew Galadriel dwelt here and was part of my council. I believed that was because you accepted the fact. I won't expel one of my closest advisers on your whim, however much I might recognize your nobler birth – we are both kings, after all, and Celeborn is of the same noble blood as you, and he stands by his wife."

Oropher quieted down after that, but the meeting was sill extremely unproductive, for he was in a foul mood and did not hesitate to show it.

"I worry about Thranduil even more, seeing this," Galadriel said to Celeborn afterwards.

"So do I," Celeborn returned. "Oropher never lets his son out of the realm, and I managed to speak to him rarely enough while I was there. The prince is...there are scars on his body and soul both, and no way for him to heal. Amroth's visits help a little, but he can't be away from Lindórinand often enough to make any real difference."

Galadriel sighed. "I so hate," she muttered, thinking of Hollin as well, "being powerless."

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Her hatred of powerlessness led Galadriel's thoughts to many different direction, and one of them, in turn, led her to search Avorneth's company.

She found her with Celebrían, not very surprisingly, and after smiling at her daughter, asked: "May I speak with you, Avorneth?

"Of course, Aunt."

Galadriel sat down on an ornately carved chair and began: "I need a consultation. I am aware that you were never quite as interested in practical craftsmanship as your father and brother," and here an expression of pain ran over the girl's face, and Galadriel felt her own answering guilt, "but you still know much about the theory. I wish to know if it would be possible to create a way to...share my visions."

"Share your visions?"

"Yes. More directly than simply telling others of them. I can let them see my mind, of course, but then there is no way to prevent them seeing more than just the one vision, and I cannot open my mind like this to all. Besides, very often if the vision is contrary to someone's beliefs, there is simply no way for me to have them see, however open my mind. I would need to...visualize the images."

Avorneth frowned. "It is an intriguing problem," she said, "one that I would very much like to solve for you. The second part – overcoming their disbelief – might not be possible, but the visualization itself could be, and I even have some ideas, but I need consultation. I will speak to my brother next he comes, and have him question father about it."

Galadriel considered the risks, but decided that Sauron did not care about her overmuch at this moment, more interested in what Hollin could give him, and so there was no reason to fear him finding out. "Very well," she said. "Thank you." She paused, and then looked at both of the young ladies present: "Are you well today?"

"As well as we ever are, Mother," Celebrían returned. "Though the sunrise was exceptionally beautiful this morning."

Galadriel did not remember anything special about it, but she only nodded. "Have you painted it?" She asked.

"No, but I yet may. I have been working on my painting on the great oak by the stream for the last few days."

"May I see it?"

Celebrían gave her a very doubtful look. "You may, of course," she said, "but I do not believe you will find it that very different from the previous painting of the same tree I have done."

Galadriel sighed. She was probably right, but… "I would like to see it all the same."

Celebrían duly disappeared in the next room, and returned with the painting. It was not that Galadriel could not tell the differences – the colours of the sky behind were different this time, and the sun was in a different position, changing the angle of light – but her daughter was right, she did not quite understand. She did not understand why Celebrían found it so satisfying to repeatedly paint or draw the same things. "It is beautiful," she said nevertheless.

Celebrían only smiled in understanding, and Avorneth laughed. "Do not worry, Aunt, I do not understand it either. Why paint the tree when she can walk to look at it any time she wishes to?"

But that was the part Galadriel did understand. "Do you not feel the need to capture some moments in art, so that they may remain for ages?"

"They remain in my memory," Avorneth replied simply, "and in it, I can share them with whom I will. Once captured in art, nature becomes static, dead, and so it loses all interest to me."

Galadriel shook her head. As much as she loved them, both of the young ladies were sometimes so very foreign to her it was terrifying. Still, their company was one of the few things that gave her joy in those dark days.


	55. Foresight

AN: I'm so sorry for disappearing for over two months. I hate autumn, it's always the most work for me. September in particular means catching up on work for the whole year, so...yeah. But anyway, I'll try to make my absence up to you as much as I can, but I'm not exactly made of free time at the moment, so I'll see how it goes.

Fot those who don't remember, where we are with the story: Galadriel lives in Lórien now, Tindómiel sailed West, Celebrimbor and Sarnel stayed in Eregion, and the idea of the Mirror of Galadriel was born.

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 **Chapter 55: Foresight**

 _Year 1560 of the Second Age, Lindórinand_

It took long years of thought and research, several visits from Mírdan and indirect consultations with Tyelperinquar, but finally, one day, Avorneth searched Galadriel out and said: "I believe I may have a solution to the...task you gave me."

"Yes?" Galadriel said, too curious and desperate to correct Avorneth and tell her it was a request, a plea, not a task.

"Water," the younger lady replied simply.

"Water?" That was...rather too easy.

"Water in which starlight reflects, to be precise," Avorneth clarified, and it still sounded a little too simple to Galadriel. "To create a sort of...mirror for your visions, too, like the stars. If we could add the reflected light of Silmarils, it would probably work best."

Ah. "Well, that might complicate matters a little."

Avorneth smiled at her understatement. "Not truly," she said then. "The one Eärendil carries should be enough, if we...amplify it."

"Amplify?"

"You kept the Star of Hollin, did you not?"

 _Ah_. Galadriel hesitated. "Will it be...destroyed?"

"No, not at all. It will just be used to focus the light, so to speak. This is what I needed to consult my father on the most, since I did not know how exactly he made the Star, but from what he says...it should work."

"How exactly?" Galadriel asked, relieved.

The younger lady hesitated. "Without meaning to be disrespectful, Aunt," she said, "are you certain you wish me to go through all the explanations?"

Galadriel laughed a little. "No," she admitted, "but I am interested in the basic principle behind it."

"Well, the stars are eternal and timeless, as is Lady Varda, their maker. So when we wish to capture the visions that transcend the bounds of time, stars...help in this."

"And the Silmaril? It is hardly eternal, and the Trees were not so either, as we learned to our sorrow." Galadriel pulled her mind away from that memory. She had barely emerged from her most recent darkness. She could not dwell on that, not yet.

Avorneth briefly pressed her hand before saying: "No, but...there is power of the West in the Silmaril, and that is the same power that gives you your visions."

"In a manner of speaking..."

"I know it is more complicated than this, but...well, you wanted the basic principle. This is it."

Galadriel should know better than trying to understand such complicated craft without the proper background, but she could not help herself. "And why water?"

"Water is the element that adapts to a shape the best of all of them. It will take the form of any container you pour it in, yet not escape it of its own accord like air would. That is why it will work for capturing your visions. In the air, they would be too scattered, and the earth would never accept them."

"And fire?" Galadriel asked out of curiosity.

Avorneth laughed. "If fire ever showed you something," she said, "it would only ever be its own thing, not whatever you wanted it to."

Galadriel nodded, satisfied with this degree of explanation. "And how do I connect my visions to it?"

"I will give some of the Noldorin craftsmen who came here – my brother suggested Túron, if you do not mind?"

"Not at all, go on."

"Well, I will give him the principles necessary to make the basin that will be capable of holding them," she said, "but as for the connection...you have to bathe in the star-reflecting water."

Galadriel stared.

Avorneth grew visibly nervous. "I know it sounds a little strange," she said, "but it truly is the only way to ensure the connection. I suppose you do not need to bathe in it entirely, soaking your hands or hair in it might suffice, but, well, the more connected to the water you are, the stronger it will be."

Galadriel exhaled. She did not mind the idea of bathing in the water, she minded what she suddenly knew with cold certainty was beyond this. But she would not be deterred. "Very well, then," she said firmly. "So I will bathe. But first, Túron must make that container."

"Oh no! I mean, of course he might as well begin, but I do not expect you to bathe in the container itself! That would...well, if my theories are correct, that would simply make all of your visions present there at all times, which would likely be unbearable, and it could also be dangerous for you. It might...drain you. No, there need to be two separate things: a larger container for the star-reflecting water, and then a smaller one for the actual visions. You will pour the water from the first into that second container, only a small amount of it, and so it will be more controlled."

"But...the larger container needs to be something particular too, does it not? It cannot be enough to simply, say, build a fountain and put it where starlight can reach it."

Avorneth looked a little sad as she replied: "Well, no, but it is relatively easy. Or rather, it is easy now, after Father invented ithildin. Mírdan brought me the formula for it from Hollin and I looked it over, and I think it should be usable to create a container for water that will do what we need." She shrugged. "Of course, you know everything I say is always...well, theory. Túron will have to test all of it and it will likely take some time until he finds a way to do it that works, if it does at all."

Galadriel smiled at her. "Your theory is usually sounder than many people's practice." She hesitated. "It will be very beautiful, will it not? The starlight-reflecting water, I mean."

Avorneth smiled back. "Yes, if I am imagining it correctly, then it will indeed."

Galadriel nodded. "We have a fountain to construct."

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It _was_ beautiful, there was no denying it, even in the initial stages.

Galadriel had found a clearing in the forest in such a fortunate location that the Silmaril that Ardamírë carried shone upon it all night. It had a spring, too, which was advantageous as well. It was on a hill, the second tallest hill of the realm. Here, it was quiet and calm, and it seemed hardly anyone ever went there, not even the Silvan. After all, it was without trees, and so they considered it an unfavourable place and only sometimes went there to get water. Galadriel had found the place very beautiful even without the fountain, and now, there was no comparison in the entirety of Lindórinand, to her mind.

Galadriel slowly walked to the fountain and looked upon the bright shine of the water for a moment in contemplation. Absurdly, she was reminded of Tirion, even though there had never been any starlight there, of course, not when she lived there at least. Still, she allowed herself to be lost in those memories for a moment. She had lost her truest home recently, and it was soothing to think of the first one she had ever had. She thought of her mother, too, something she did not do very often. But she would have liked the fountain.

Then, Galadriel took out her crown, and put it on the fountain's edge so that the light of the Silmaril touched it. The Star always shone so brightly when it did. She remembered it from Hollin, and the memory was sharp and painful for a moment and she had to push it back forcefully, not wishing for the distraction of bad memories now. Instead, she concentrated on what the light did to the water. Somehow, she had never tried it – there had not been many fountains in Hollin – and in this particular fountain, the effect was incredible. The water seemed to turn into molten silver, and yet with depth and life the metal would not have, and an inner brightness, too, that not even mithril could match.

After simply looking for a time, she knelt by it and sent her mind out further than she normally did, to the skies. _Ardamírë, husband to she who was like a daughter to me and son to she who is like a sister_ , _and beloved to me in your own right_ , she called to him, o _nce again, as in the war, we need your help. Allow the light of_ _your_ _Silmaril to shine upon this fountain and to bless its waters with the reflection of the Trees that you carry with you. Grant us light in the yet again darkening Middle-Earth_.

She did not know if he heard her, but the fountain did shine even impossibly lighter not long afterwards, and the light continued to grow until the water looked like an echo of the light of Telperion. Galadriel felt tears of gratefulness prick in her eyes. If nothing else came of it, this fountain of light was a very precious gift indeed, even if the memories it brought were bittersweet.

There was light here, light that almost matched the West, and Galadriel felt blessed beyond anything she had ever expected to be allowed to have this in the realm where she dwelt, to even have it be hers in a way.

 _Does that mean that I am forgiven,_ she wondered? _Perhaps my monstrosity is not as dreadful?_ The Eldest did not think it was, after all...but then, this was a dangerous road to take. She did not have the right to forgive her own sins. And so she pushed the thought of that back again, and concentrated on the next task.

It required all of her concentration and will, too. It made her anxious – even terrified – because she knew what Avorneth did not. She knew that for the fountain to work, she would have to give something of herself that would not be returned to her. The visions, she suspected, would become stronger with the help of the mirror – but they would no longer come to her without it.

They have been part of her for so long it was difficult to imagine life without them, and they had served her well many a time. Every time there had been acute danger, she had felt it. Could she do without that? Could she go through the world blind, every time she left this place? Could she chain herself to Lindórinand in this manner?

She gritted her teeth. It was time to let go of the past. This was her home now, she gave her allegiance to Amdír, and she could not go on hoping she would some day return to Hollin, or anywhere else.

Besides, how much suffering had the visions caused her, too? Would she not be happier without knowing, without expecting the darkness that was to come? In the end, she had never been able to prevent it anyway.

 _Yes, but that has never been your way, has in?_ A voice in her head said, a voice that sounded a little too much like Fëanáro. _In spite of what you told Amdír, you do not care for the bliss of ignorance. You want to know, you always wanted to know._

Galadriel closed her eyes, and took a deep breath. What she wanted was immaterial. People could be saved by her sacrifice. Was that not what she always claimed her gift was useful for? Well, now she had the chance to truly show it.

And besides, the fact that the voice sounded like Fëanáro should be reason enough not to listen to him.

And so she hardened her resolve and continued with the plan. She would simply have to remember to look into the basin regularly.

She bathed long in her own rooms, soaking in the war water that had been brought there, before she rose and covered only in a light cloak and accompanied only be Celeborn, she returned to the fountain.

It still glittered in silver, and it felt like a sin to step into it, but Celeborn squeezed her hand in silent reassurance and she took off her robe and submerged herself in the light.

It caressed her and it sung to her, and she allowed it to take her whole, to close above her head.

Then, she felt it taking, and as with her pregnancy, she fought with herself to make herself surrender. She could hear Fëanáro again, almost mocking. _Is this what you want?_ He asked. _To be robbed of your power?_

 _I already lost Hollin,_ she thought. _It does not matter any more._ And then, with sharp anger: _Had your mother not been willing to let go, you would have never been born_. And with that, she allowed the water to take what it wanted.

She was not certain how much time had passed before she emerged again, but she felt rejuvenated, like the burden of Middle-Earth had been lifted just a little from her shoulders. Celeborn covered her in her cloak again and wordlessly held out the basin Túron made. Galadriel took a jar and poured some water into it. "Look," she told her husband, and he did.

When he withdrew, his face was place and he was shaking a little. "The fall of Hollin," he whispered, "just as I have seen it in your mind."

It was done.

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The next time Sarnel came to visit, Galadriel took her directly to the mirror.

"I have letters again," Sarnel said on the way. "I spoke to Elrond, too, recently, after a very long time. I met him in the forest."

"How is he?" Galadriel asked, trying to mask the desperate longing in her mind.

"Cautiously optimistic about Númenórë, I believe."

"Truly? That would be the first time in centuries."

"Yes. There is another queen, as I suppose you know, and while Elrond does not appear to think she will be a good queen, exactly, he believes she will not be...dangerously unstable, like the last three rulers. He seems to think she will be a little like Aldarion – she is stubborn, too, from what he says, and unwilling to take responsibility seriously or prioritize anything over her own interests, but..."

"Simply a bad ruler, not an outright dangerous one," Galadriel finished the thought.

"Yes. As you can imagine, I immediately asked whether we could hope in any military help – since we could have, with Aldarion, you know we could have, as much as you disliked him – but he says not. Unfortunately, the new Queen appears to have no interest in Middle-Earth."

Galadriel wondered what she was going to find in the letter. How come that after three unstable rulers, Númenórë would be better once more? Was the queen's mother, perhaps, a good and reasonable lady? But if she was, why did she marry Súrion?

But then, they finally reached the Mirror, and she forgot all about the island. "Look," she said to Sarnel. "I need you to see."

"Is that the new wonder my daughter told me you were preparing together?" Sarnel asked with a smile

"Yes," Galadriel said, completely serious. "Look."

When Sarnel emerged, she was just as pale as Celeborn had been. There was a long silence as she looked into the distance, shaking slightly, a single tear falling down her cheek. Then, she turned to Galadriel. "You thought this would help convince me to leave Hollin, did you not?" She asked, and her voice was firm.

"No. I hoped," Galadriel replied.

"Do you know me so little?" Sarnel asked with a bitter laugh. "I knew this was likely, I have known for a long time. I told you I had to protect the realm I swore to. Now I am only more determined to stay, now that I know my husband and the land will both need it."

Galadriel had feared this and expected this, in truth. Still, she had had to try. She had to do everything that she could, and that was not...wrong. "It will be a futile stand," she said now, well aware it would not change Sarnel's opinion.

"Still, I cannot abandon it," the commander confirmed her expectations. "I am not saying your choice was wrong – indeed, it is probably the more reasonable one – but I cannot make it."

Galadriel closed her eyes in pain. "You are your father's daughter in so many ways," she said. "And it will bring him grief."

"Do not use my father against me, Aunt, I beg you."

Galadriel pressed her hands, and sat heavily on the edge of the fountain. "That was not my intention," she said. "I was only remembering what he told me when we abandoned Narogrotto. That he could never do that again, abandon a place and people he loved, however desperate the situation. You are like him, in this, but that knowledge will not bring him happiness."

There was a long silence between them. Galadriel tried desperately not to think about what that meant: that Sarnel would die.

She sighed. "Were all my efforts with the mirror in vain, then?" She asked.

Sarnel hesitated. "I will tell people," she said. "I will even send some here, to have a look as well. I do not believe Tyelperinquar will be convinced – if I am not mistaken, he will think that it is your fears and nightmares the mirror shows, not your visions-"

"He should trust his daughter more."

Sarnel laughed a bitter laugh. "This has nothing to do with trust, and has not had for a long time. Tyelperinquar simply cannot admit that you might have been at least partly right. Do you not see? His whole world would fall apart..."

Galadriel frowned. "Naturally, it is never easy to admit a great mistake, but he had managed once already-"

"But that is precisely it!" Sarnel exclaimed. "Realizing how wrong he had been, back then, had been enormously difficult for him. It set him right in some ways, but it broke him in others. He never really trusted himself in anything any more...apart from craft. Craft, he believed, was the one thing he could do well, he still understood, where he was never wrong. All the confidence from before, and there was never that much to begin with, in spite of that almost cockiness he told me about...well, he purged himself of it, except when it regarded craft. That, he believed, he still knew everything about. Admitting that there was something he missed about Annatár, that there was something wrong...he could not do it."

Galadriel still did not understand. "But why? Being wrong about Annatár does not mean he is a bad craftsman."

"For him, it is tightly connected. Do you not see?" Sarnel began to pace. "Annatár clearly wants something from the craftsmen of Hollin. His plans went beyond defeating you and gaining control, apparently, because he is still working with them, even more intensely than before. So he must want to use their craft to his benefit in some way, I do not know how. And for Tyelperinquar to admit that he had not realized that...that there has been a nefarious plan going on regarding his work this whole time, and he never noticed...this is the last thing he trusts himself in." She shook her head. "He will never see his mistake, he cannot, and that is why I need to stay by him. I need to protect him."

"Then get your son to come here, at least!" Galadriel said in despair.

"I will try, but...you know how close Mírdan is to his father, and how much he values Annatár. I am even more unlikely to have luck there than with my husband. But I will tell everyone I believe can be told, and I will try to make them understand, at least, that if they wish to stay, they will die sooner or later. It is their choice, but they should know what they were choosing."

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Sarnel's words in Hollin had some effect. In the course of the following years, a few hundred more from the realm trickled into Lindórinand, mostly the remaining Sindar, but not exclusively. The majority of the Noldor who came were children or very young elves, sent to safety by their parents. Bot some were adults, too, those who made up their minds, and did not choose to sail, something that thousands apparently did at this time. Some of the arrivals, in particular, made Galadriel very happy.

"Feliel! It is so very, very good to see you."

"And you, my lady. I have been plagued by guilt ever since you left, and when Sarnel told me, I...forgive me, please, for not trusting you enough. I did not want to, I fear. I loved Hollin with all my heart. Still do, I believe."

Galadriel put a hand on her shoulder in understanding. "So do I. I understand your pain. If you wish, you can rest here for a time, or I can show you the way to the Noldorin settlement."

"There is a separate one?"

"Oh, yes. Just beyond the edge of the forest, at the foot of the mountains."

Feliel's face brightened. "That is heartening to hear, my lady. I confess that living in a forest...does not appeal to me."

"Let us go there directly, then." On the way, an idea occurred to Galadriel. "I might even have a job for you," she said. "The community there has some trouble organizing itself, and I have to do more things directly than I would prefer. Most of them have no experience with governance. You could be the solution to that."

Feliel gave her a surprised look. "Is Aseanettë not there?"

"She is, and she is indeed the one in charge of the town, but...you know her. You know she is not made for leadership. She is an excellent advisor, but..." Aseanettë could not mediate conflicts and make quick and effective decisions, and she did not have enough natural authority. Sometimes, Galadriel felt she was too clever to be a ruler. As Feliel's advisor, however, she could be perfect.

"I understand." Feliel seemed to hesitate. "I will gladly take on the responsibility if you want me to, but...will they accept me? When I refused to leave at first?"

"That remains to be seen, of course, but I believe so. I believe that, like me, they will be too happy by the arrival of others to hold any grudges."

She was right, as it turned out. The Noldorin town rejoiced at every new arrival from Hollin, and if there were any grudges felt, they were only personal things, not affecting the general atmosphere of the relief at some good news in the midst of waiting for a tragedy. Most of the Noldor from Lindórinand had gone to look in the Mirror. They knew what was coming.

Some of the Sindar who came with the new wave of refugees from Hollin were friends of Celebrían, too, so she was happy to see them and in a more visibly cheerful mood than was usual with her cool demeanour. She had been worried about them, Galadriel knew, worried they would perish with Hollin, and her relief was making her almost giddy.

Amdír seemed less thrilled. "Do you believe many more will come?"

"Why, do you fear your realm has reached its capacity?" Galadriel asked in a worried tone. She thought there was still more than enough food to go around, but if this became a problem...

"Not yet," Amdír replied, "but...well, we've talked about this. If you got the majority...my people would start to complain." He sighed. "It's a very good thing so many Sindar came with you, you know. My own Sindarin lords do not feel threatened by them, indeed the eldest among them welcome old friends, but if there had suddenly been more Noldor than Sindar...well, that would have been a different matter."

"Did you not say your people did not have animosity towards the Noldor?" Galadriel asked pointedly, remembering the unconditional, open welcome she had received when they first came from Hollin. Amdír seemed much more reserved now. It seemed his Sindarin lords had expressed their discontent.

"I said they didn't hate them," he corrected. "That does not mean there isn't some degree of hostility. It's a good thing, too, that your people chose to settle a little apart." He shrugged. "Of course, the most eternally discontent of all claim that as a proof of the Noldorin arrogance, but frankly, it's a matter of two families who...well, if they chose to leave for Greenwood because the presence of the Noldor here affronted them, I'd be very happy indeed. I'd rather not provoke the rest, though."

"Don't worry, then, I don't expect that many other to come," Galadriel said truthfully, though with a heavy heart. "A hundred, or two? Some, I know, are also departing to Lindon or across the Sea, so that makes the number of Noldor you have to host rather smaller."

He sighed. "I'm sorry. I try to be welcoming, it's just..."

"Of course. I do understand, though I wonder...why are you worried about what your lords think so much?"

He looked guilty, but also a little offended. "I thought you of all people would understand that I would like to remain king."

"No, of course," she would not expect Amdír to sacrifice his throne for the refugees, not unless it was the only way to save them, "what I mean is, do you feel your hold on the throne is so precarious? I always believed that when the Sindar had a king, they followed him till death."

Amroth shifted, now distinctly uncomfortable. "You heard what Oropher said, when you first met him in council. About my kingship."

Galadriel frowned. "Yes, but I assumed that was just...well, Oropher."

"No," he admitted heavily. "My departure from Greenwood was...complicated."

"What happened? I thought you simply could not bear him any more."

"That was one of the reasons. The strongest reason, for me. Yet if it was only that, I would have left alone, or only with Amroth. Perhaps returned to Lindon, even though I would have detested crawling back to you. But...there were others who wanted to come, discontent. I suppose Celeborn told you what Oropher's court looks like?"

He mostly talked about the state of the king and his son, but… "It's very Silvan, isn't it?"

"Yes. Many Sindar were...unhappy with that. Those who did not detest the Noldor enough to agree with Oropher's reasoning that we needed tu purge ourselves from any cultural similarities with you...well, they bemoaned the loss of our traditions. They left with me to have a properly Sindain realm once again."

Properly Sindarin realm, properly Noldorin realm – Galadriel detested those phrases, feeling like they were the source of everything bad that happened to them in this age. Everything, at least, that was not directly tied to Sauron.

"Of course," Amdír continued, "that didn't quite work out, not with the number of Silvan who live here, but we made it work in some way. The capital is a Sindarin city. Sindarin traditions and followed and respected here. It's...important, crucial, to many of them."

"So the presence of the Noldor-"

"Exactly. It'd have been difficult, had they all chosen to live in the capital. It's also...Oropher saw reason after I explained to him he was on the brink of civil war and let me depart with some of his people, but he let me go as his vassal. He only allowed me the use of the royal title a century or so later, when I told him I needed some authority, not to just be a lord among lords. The Sindar are not used to function like that."

Galadriel frowned at him. "Lord Círdan is the most successful ruler Middle-Earth has ever seen, and he has no royal title to help him."

Amdír grimaced. "Perhaps I'm simply not as good as he is, then. I couldn't do it, I couldn't hold my bickering lords in check. I needed that title. In the end, he relented, but he- well, he never assumed the title of High King because he knew Elrond and Celeborn would have disputed that immediately, and it did not truly go with his newly adopted Silvan values, but I know he sees himself that way, ever since I became king. And some of my people feel that way, too. Like my claim on the title is not true, and that if something happened they disliked, they could always call to Oropher for help. As you saw, they aren't entirely wrong. So yes, my position is...not quite secure."

Galadriel sat in silence for a long while, letting it all sink in, the difficulty of Amdír's situation she had never appreciated before. "So I assume," she said then, "that asking you for military help once Gorthaur attacks Hollin is fruitless."

He nodded once, sharply. "That is not only the Sindar," he said. "My lords would never agree to help, but...neither would the Silvan. I don't have that firm a control over them."

Galadriel was beginning to wonder about his kingdom more and more. "This makes me doubly thankful you accepted the refugees from Hollin," she said at length.

He gave her a look. "There was never any doubt. They needed a home, and I could provide one."

The Nolde only smiled.


	56. Tricked

**Chapter 56: Tricked**

 _Year 1692 of the Second Age, Lindórinand_

Tyelperinquar was dishevelled and out of breath when they brought him to her, but the first thing he did was falling to his knees before her and saying desperately, almost hysterically: „I am sorry, cousin...my queen, I am so sorry. You were right, right about everything, and we were all so wrong...I was so wrong...once again, I ruined everything and I..."

She stared at him. She had not thought she would ever see him again, and so her thoughts about him had been dominated by pity. Now that he was before her, however, she felt her anger stirring as well, anger at his betrayal. She did her best to control it. _You can hardly blame him for being deceived by Sauron_ , she thought. _You did not stop speaking to your uncle after he believed the Enemy's lies either_. „Rise, Tyelperinquar," she said. "What happened?" Because she remembered what Sarnel had said, that he would never recognize his mistake. She trusted her niece to know her own husband. It must have been something truly extraordinary that brought him here.

He took a deep breath. His face was drawn, and he looked almost like one of the Men in their old age. She was reminded of Singollo, when he thought Lúthien was dead. "He...he tricked us all," he managed to say, in a shaky voice. "Annatár, he tricked us. We made rings, rings of power, rings that could enhance one's own skills and talents, and he helped us make them, but he...he made his own ring, just one, to rule all the others, and he put it on and suddenly he could see us, could control us...we took them off immediately, and we ceased using all that he gave us or taught us, and destroyed what we could, and we want to beg you, cousin, my lady, my queen, come back."

 _We_. Who was we, Galadriel wondered? Him and Sarnel? Mírdan too, perhaps? Or have the other smiths woken up as well? Not that it mattered. This was what she had hoped to hear immediately after she left Hollin, even though she had known it would not happen. A hundred years ago, she had hoped they would all run, after what she showed Sarnel in the mirror. Now it was too late for that as well.

For the first time, Galadriel was grateful for what the Mirror took from her, for not having the visions any more. She only felt a vague hint of premonition now, at Tyelperinquar's words. She knew that before, new and terrible visions would have been crashing over her, reacting to what she had just learned. She shook her head. "It is too late. It will not be long now until Hollin falls."

He took another breath, calmer this time, slowly pulling himself together even as his eyes showed his resignation, and bowed his head. "I feared you might say so, but I had to ask. If you...if you could look into the Mirror, too, to see what was in store...I will return to Hollin soon, but I have to impart some information first." He was trying to be formal now, she saw, to use it as a mask to hide his despair and guilt behind. She let him.

"There are many lesser rings that we made," he said, almost beginning to seem like he was simply giving an explanation to one of his smiths, "but of true importance are only sixteen of them, the major rings. We keep them hidden, as I said, but they are tinged by his power, and if the kingdom will fall soon, as you say, then it means he will come for them and find them, and they could serve him greatly if he gives them to his followers. The power of his servants would be increased, and he would have direct control over them."

Yes. That was why it was too late to run. "Could you not hide them, then, here or in Lindon?" Galadriel asked. Sauron would still come after those who made the rings, of course. There was no saving them, but perhaps there could be a way to prevent the rings from being found.

"I do not dare. He can sense them, their presence, even when they are not in use I believe, for he helped to make them and he has the ruling ring. I could endanger this realm, or the High King's."

"Destroy them, then?"

He shook his head. "No fire can burn them, or none I know of. Perhaps a fiery chasm, like the one where Nelyafinwë threw the Silmaril, would consume them, but there are no such ones around us, and we cannot afford to travel with the rings. We will simply have to attempt to defend them the best we can."

She sighed. "You will fail," she pointed out.

"What else can we do?"

Galadriel stayed silent. She just wished, desperately and hopelessly, that Sarnel would run...and knew that she would not.

"There is one more thing." Tyelperinquar said and looked around. "Is this place secure?"

"As it is secure anywhere in Middle-Earth, yes. Why do you ask?"

"For...there are three rings that I have made in secrecy," he said quietly, "and Annatár did not know of them and his hand never touched them." He hesitated, and then broke the formality to show a hint of the despair behind to say: "I listened to you, in spite of everything I did, at least a little, I swear, you and Sarnel, I...she told me he wants us for something, our craft, and I could not believe it, but I wanted to prove her wrong, prove both of you wrong, and so I decided that on this incredible project, the greatest thing we ever did, my greatest works should not be known to him. And then when nothing bad would happen I would just show them as a surprise to a good friend, and he would rejoice in my independent success, and that, surely, would be the final proof that he was just that, just my friend and a great craftsman..." He laughed bitterly, and before Galadriel could say something – she did not rightly know what, for she did not quite feel equal to comforting the elf who took her kingdom from her – he pulled the formality back around himself like a cloak. "They are still rings of power, and so as long as he has the ruling ring, they cannot be used, but perhaps if one day he was defeated...these rings are powerful. They could help, in future."

And there was that hint of despair again, a sign of how much he wished, hoped, that some of what he did could still be used for good, could help. Galadriel wanted to tell him about how the Star of Hollin made it possible to make the Mirror, but the words stuck in her throat. She could not comfort him. "Let me see the rings," she said instead, knowing without having to ask that he had them with him.

Tyelperinquar pulled a small package out of his travel bag and unwrapped it, showing her three exquisite jewels, one with a ruby, one with a sapphire and one with diamond. He was right, they were powerful, Galadriel could sense it immediately. They were also pure. "Each is different, is it not?" She asked, her hand hovering over them.

"Yes." In spite of his worry and despair that Galadriel could sense behind his words, there was now pride, too. "There is Narya, the ring of fire. It can inspire strength in others and chases fear away. There is Nenya, the ring of water, and it preserves and protects. And there is Vilya, the ring of air, and it cheers the soul and eases heavy burdens. All of them, to tell the truth, have some protective abilities, but Nenya has the strongest ones and it can also slow the passage of time. I wish to hide them somewhere safe outside Hollin, in different places, with those wise enough to know that they truly must not use it as long as Annatár wields the ruling ring. I want you to have one of them, cousin...and I want to have your advice on who should have the other two."

"Artanáro and Lord Ciryatan," she replied, without the smallest hesitation. Elrond, Lord Laurefindil and Ambë would have been her other candidates, but those two great rulers took clear precedence. "As for me..." She felt she did not deserve to have one, but looking at it reasonably, it was a good idea to split them between the realms, and she was certainly not sending one to Oropher. "You want me to choose the ring I want?"

Tyelperinquar assented.

Galadriel looked at the three beautiful jewels before her. She wanted to take Narya, she could almost feel it calling to her, and yet...she knew she could not, the same way she knew, all those millennia ago in Aman, that she had to spend time in Lady Estë's company, even though she would have sometimes preferred the Queen of All. And seen in this light, the answer was clear.

"I will take Nenya," she said.

"Nenya? The ring of water?" Tyelperinquar was astonished.

She gave him a hard look. "I take Nenya because what it offers is what I most lack. I can inspire and I can ease spirits, but protection – of the more passive kind - and preservation...that was always what I had to make myself do. It used to be that I had Lady Estë or Lady Melian to help with that and remind me of that. Now I have to remember on my own that this is what I need. I know my weakness, and I combat it every day."

Tyelperinquar lowered his eyes, hearing her implied criticism. "As you say, cousin."

She picked it up from his palm and hid it in her bodice. "Did you plan to bring the rings to Artanáro and Lord Ciryatan yourself?" She asked then.

"No – I had been planning to send one of my people, why?"

"Leave them there with me and let one of mine go. It will be less suspicious."

He hesitated, but then nodded and handed her the two remaining rings.

There was silence between them, filled with all the words neither of them could say. This was, likely, the last time they saw each other. They had worked closely alongside each other for centuries. They had even been friends, they were family. She as his closest kin this side of the Sea. Yet still, at this time, she found she did not have anything to say to him.

"With your leave," he said at length, "I will go speak with my daughter now, for I wish to tell her in person...and say my farewells."

Galadriel nodded, firmly forbidding herself to think about Sarnel. Still, she had to ask. "Your son?"

"He will not leave," Tyelperinquar said and his voice shook, back to vulnerable once again. "He says he will not abandon me and Sarnel. I...I do not know what..."

"He is an adult," Galadriel replied, feeling as if the entire weight of the world rested on her. "Tell your daughter as much as you can about these rings of power," she added as he turned to leave again. "Once Sauron gets them...we might need to know."

He nodded.

"And Tyelperinquar?" She called, something inside of her finally breaking when she saw his stiff shoulders disappearing among the trees.

He stopped.

"I forgive you," she said, and heard the single, loud sob that escaped his throat at that pronouncement.

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Galadriel went to Amdír with a request. "I need someone truly trustworthy from among the Silvan elves. Well, I might need more people as guard, but one of them has to be someone you'd trust with your son's life."

"What are you planning?"

She hesitated. "There are certain...powerful artefacts Celebrimbor brought to me. He wants to keep them out of Gorthaur's hands, wants to hide them. I need to transport them to Lindon, and I need someone whom Sauron will never suspect to be transporting anything important to go."

"How do you know these artefacts aren't trapped?"

Galadriel blinked at him. "What are you saying?"

"Celebrimbor brought them right from a kingdom controlled by Sauron. What's there to make me believe they aren't set-ups by him?"

"Celebrimbor told me Gorthaur never touched them."

"I'm sure he believes that."

She frowned. "I saw them. There was nothing dark about them."

"You know best yourself that Gorthaur is a master of lies."

Galadriel exhaled. "Even if you were right...surely that'd be even more of a reason to give me that recommendation? My intention is to get these artefacts out of the realm, after all."

He nodded curtly. "Just warn Rodnor," he said.

"Don't worry, I intend to fully inform him of where I got them."

He nodded. "Very well," he said, and thought for a moment before saying: "Take Ealc. She's one of my intermediaries for dealing with the Silvan. I'll send her to your house for you to meet her."

The elf appeared in an hour. She stood in front of the door, tall and straight. A Silvan elf indeed, unmistakeable by her bright clothing of simple, sharp lines. There did not seem to be much soft about the elf herself either. She stood there and looked at Galadriel with unflinching eyes.

"Come on in," the Nolde called.

Ealc entered and remained standing by the door, still equally unflinching. "Did the king tell you what I wanted?" Galadriel asked.

"I'm to take some powerful objects to Lindon in secrecy." Her Sindarin was good, but accented, and made it clear it was not her first language.

"Have you been there before?"

"In Lindon? Yes, in the Havens."

Galadriel was surprised. The Silvan of Lindórinand rarely travelled that far, she knew. "Truly? For what purpose?"

"We went there to trade."

Galadriel nodded. "I'll also need you to give a message to king Gil-Galad."

"What message?"

"Avorneth will give you details. She should be here any moment now." Galadriel reached out with her mind. "Ah," she said, "she's approaching."

"Do you usually touch other people's minds?" Ealc asked her rather sharply.

Galadriel was taken aback by the question. "Of those who are close to me, yes," she replied. "As they do mine. It's, after all, the most intimate form of communication."

"It's intrusive," Ealc replied.

It was in a way, but then, close relationships could not work without some intrusion. The basis of friendship was opening oneself to another. "Surely," she said aloud, "if the other person opens their mind to it…?"

Ealc seemed to look at her with contempt now. "As if you can ever refuse. Child to a parent, friend to a friend. What would they think? Better not make people face this choice at all."

Galadriel had to admit she had never thought about it that way. She fully believed that it was a unique form of intimacy to be cherished, of course, but she also remembered the things she used to desperately hide from Lady Melian, and that she now hid from Celeborn. Ealc, she had to concede, had a point as well.

Her musings were interrupted by Avorneth arriving, and Ealc looked at her for a very long time, so long that Avorneth averted her eyes. "You'll be travelling with me?" She asked.

"No," Avorneth replied, clearly surprised.

"Pity," Ealc merely said.

"Avorneth is too known to Gorthaur," Galadriel explained. "The whole point of having you go is that he won't consider you..."

"Important enough," Ealc finished bluntly. "I understand. So, what message should I give?"

Galadriel turned to Avorneth. "Please, explain anything you believe Rodnor and Lord Círdan should know about the rings, and that can be said aloud. Ealc will take the message."

"Shall we walk as you explain?" Ealc asked, and rather hesitatingly, Avorneth nodded.

"Anything else from you?" The Silvan elf turned to Galadriel.

"No," the Nolde replied, a little taken aback by all of these proceedings. "I think that'll be all. Just come collect the rings before you go. I trust you know how to move across the land in secrecy."

Ealc merely nodded, and they disappeared.

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Mírdan came not many months later.

"What are you doing here?" Galadriel asked him, shocked, even as Avorneth, who had sensed her brother's approach, flew into his arms.

"My parents begged me," he said in a weak voice over his sister's shoulder. "I did not want to abandon them, but they begged me, and...Mother cried." His voice sounded hollow, distant. "I have never seen her cry before. I did not think she could. But she cried, and father cried as well, and then she screamed – not at me, at...I do not even know. At the Doom, Father said. And when I saw it, I could not..."

"You did the right thing," Galadriel assured him. The less people perished in Hollin, the better.

"But I abandoned them," he said. "My grandfather spoke to Mother recently, and I know he begged her to run away, but she did not. Yet I did, at my parents' insistence. Am I weaker?"

"No. Perhaps less stubborn than your mother, but then, you were not Hollin's chief commander." She paused. "Also, I suspect your grandfather does not know how imminent the danger is. He was in Hollin?"

"No. But Mother met with him, and I heard her telling Father about it."

"I suspect she told him some, but...not all. She would not wish to burden him, and she did not wish to...perhaps if she saw the amount of despair in him you saw in your mother, she would not have been able to stay faithful to her resolve either. And she wanted to avoid that." Of course, Galadriel thought, that only meant it would hit Artanáro all the harder when the day of grief came. Her heart broke for him.

Her heart broke for Mírdan, too, standing there in his sister's arms, looking lost. Celebrían had stayed in the background, but now she stepped forward and lightly touched him on the shoulder. "Let us go to my house," she said. "You need rest."

The young elf meekly nodded and the two ladies led him away.

Celeborn found Galadriel standing there, looking into the distance. "What happened, my love?" he asked. "I saw Mírdan in Celebrían's mind."

"He came," she replied. She did not say anything else, but he understood and embraced her and they stood like this for a while. "It'll be soon, now," she said then, and he nodded.

"Let's go home," she said abruptly and turned. She did not as much want to go home as she wanted to hold her crown of Hollin in her hands again.

When she did, sitting on the edge of her bed, staring at it, Celeborn sat down next to her.

"It seems so long ago, like an impossible dream," she said. "Was it truly mine for a time?"

"Yes," her husband replied, "and it was glorious."

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Galadriel, after much thought, wrote a letter to Artanáro. She told him all about Hollin, about how dire exactly the situation was, and that Sarnel would die with the realm. Her niece would not thank her for it, she knew, but she could not imagine not doing it. She could not imagine Artanáro ever forgiving her if she did not tell him.

Her astonishment was great, however, when she received her response and discovered that he knew everything.

 _I want to send the whole of Lindon's army there_ , he wrote, _and yet Sarnel begs me not to. She says the realm is doomed, and that it would only be a waste of innocent life. She says that those who had wanted to save themselves already did so, that they had_ _t_ _he_ _i_ _r chance. That those who stayed were prepared to die with the realm, but that innocent soldiers should not be obliged to._

 _I do not know if I can do this_ , he wrote. _She made me promise, but I do not know if I can_ _keep my word_ _, even though I am king and the lives of my people should be above_ _anything_ _to me. But Aunt, she is my daughter. How can I not...how can I not save her? That_ _is_ _what I told you after Narogrotto. I cannot do this._

 _And yet Sarnel talked to me about that, too. She told me this was not the same. I was not abandoning anyone, she said, I was simply not sending my people to death. And I do not know, I do not know what to do. I am lost. Please, help me. I am lost without you._

There was not one word of recrimination in that letter, but then, it was not necessary. Galadriel felt all the guilt in the world even without it. This was Artanáro's daughter – Artanáro's – and her blood would be on her hands.

She thought about what to reply for a long time. She thought of the lives lost that would be her responsibility if she gave one kind of advice, and the pain she would cause if she gave the other, and then she remembered Narogrotto, too, like Artanáro did.

She remembered her solution to the dilemma during the Battle of Unnumbered Tears, and how it came to the worst possible outcome. And yet, it would not leave her mind.

 _Remember what we advised your father those centuries ago_ , she wrote. _If your conscience will not allow you not to send anyone, and yet it prevents you from ordering your people to death as well, then choose this compromise. Ask for volunteers. Make it clear to them that they will likely die._ _There are those who do not mind dying so much, who have loved ones beyond the sea and do not resent the thought of meeting them. There are also those who would gladly die for your daughter, though you should make it clear to them that they will not save her. Not when she will command the troops. Sauron will never let her escape._

 _But still, she is an adult and has the right to her choice to die with her people and land, and so do your people have the right to the choice to die with her. So ask for volunteers, and make sure it is clear what you are asking for. Then, perhaps, you will be able to rest a little more easily._

She almost choked as she wrote the last words. His daughter would be dead soon. How could she think he would ever rest easy again?

And she, herself, how would she rest? All those from Lindon who would die in the coming war, their blood would be on her hands, too. And blood from everyone from Hollin. Sarnel's blood.

It always came back to this, again and again, inescapable. Sarnel would be dead, and it would be her fault.

A memory surfaced, of a little girl in Lindon's garden, being bored by the roses Galadriel tried to show her, wishing to do something more interesting. Of a young woman training with Lord Laurefindil, laughing as she barely parried his attack. Of her new commander, joyful because she just found for the first time that she truly had the respect of her troops.

All this gone, because of her.

She thought of Lord Laurefindil. He, too, would never forgive her Sarnel's death. Perhaps he would finally see why Erestor detested her. Where she went, death went with her. The Doom was unforgiving. It was time she realized that.

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Galadriel kept her despair at bay by occupying herself with practical concerns. Felil was doing well at ruling the Noldorin city with Aseanettë's help, but Galadriel still frequently visited to make sure everything was as good as it could be. She helped Amdír. She spent time with her daughter and Celeborn, and with Avorneth and Mírdan, too. Mírdan worried her. He always seemed to half dwell in Hollin in his mind, distracted and inattentive to his own sister, let alone to anyone else.

She also frequently went to Khazad-dûm, to warn the dwarves of what she saw in her Mirror and to hear the news from the other side of the mountains, such news that the eagles did not give her. There, at least, everything still seemed to be the same as always, though the craftsmen missed their elven colleagues, King Nithi told her. "They were good trading partners, and good inspiration for our work," he said. "But still, I trust you and Celebrimbor both have good reason for your advice, and we'll keep the door closed to all but you and the few others we truly trust."

And so Galadriel gave her advice, and worked, and waited.

It happened in the middle of a very unpleasant argument with an envoy from Oropher. That was something that could always be relied on: when an envoy from Greenwood came, they would pick an argument with her. Amdír also told her that Oropher had tried many times since that first one to convince him to cast her out. In a word, their relationship was not improving.

She had felt edgy since the morning, filled with dark foreboding, so the poor envoy really did not pick a very good time. She was just about to deliver a very scathing reply when suddenly, the vision crashed into her: blood, blood everywhere...blood and screams and fighting...and then she saw the truly terrible sights, Sarnel fighting swarmed by orcs, only tatters of her army remaining around her, and her fighters being cut down one by one, until only she remained, deadly with her sword and cutting down dozens of orcs – and yet it was not enough, it would never be enough, for more kept coming and her arms got tired and Galadriel saw them sag, and then she saw the first blow of her enemies land, and after that, they kept coming until she fell to her knees and then her body was covered by orcs and run over, and oh, Galadriel could not breathe, it was too much, by far too much - and then there was Tyelperinquar, standing on the steps of the palace, her royal palace, and fighting, and the orcs coming, wave after wave, and then the vision ended and she knew Tyelperinquar was dead, too. She heard Avorneth's shriek echo through Lindórinand and knew that she saw, too.

If she had not been sitting, she would have fallen now, and she heard clearly the echo of Artanáro's despair: 'My child...my baby..."

His pain, Sarnel's pain, Mírdan's pain, Avorneth's and her own, and Tyelperinquar's, too, it all mixed together into a swirl of grief and guilt. Would any of this have happened, she wondered, had I not insisted on having my own realm? Or would they all still be alive?

And then a new, fresh wave of hatred for Sauron rose in her. _I will see you destroyed, do you hear me?_ She cried in her mind. _I will see your end_.

Laughter was the only response.

When she came back to her senses, she was still in the council room and Oropher's envoy was looking at her like all his worst imaginings were confirmed.

She ignored him and turned to Amdír. "Hollin has fallen," she said. "Celebrimbor and Sarnel are dead."

Heaviness fell across the council room, and they honoured the memory by a respectful silence. Then Amdír said: "We knew it would happen soon. We need to prepare to accept any other possible refugees. Rýnor," he turned to his commander, "send as many units as you can spare across the mountains, to find them and bring them here. Will some be coming through Hadhodrond?" He asked Galadriel.

"Not many," she replied. "Those who were truly friendly with the dwarves would have been those who defended the realm most valiantly, and they would have fallen. Look in the mountains."

Rýnor nodded in agreement and left, and the king addressed his son: "Amroth, make sure all is prepared to receive them – Lady Galadriel will help you."

"Of course, my king," Galadriel assented and followed the prince out of the throne room.

"Is there anything specific I need to know?" Amroth asked her once they were outside. "Otherwise, I will leave you to grieve in private, my lady."

"Thank you. No, I do not believe there is anything – you were here when out group of refugees arrived. This is not going to be any different, only," she choked a little, "there is going to be much less of them."

Amroth inclined his head and left her alone, and she went in search of her daughter.

Celebrían was to be found comforting Avorneth, and Galadriel joined them without a word, simply embracing both and desperately wishing she could undo all evil that ever came from her decisions.

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AN: I have a drabble about Celebrimbor's and Sarnel's death (because I'm such a cheerful gal) on tumblr. Check out barbarakaterina. Tumblr tagged/the nolde verse


	57. Longing

**Chapter 57: Longing**

 _Yeah 1800 of the Second Age, Lindórinand_

Galadriel had heard that it was Elrond who commanded the Lindon forces in Eregion from those of Amdír's troops that went to search for refugees from Hollin. They returned with only few from her own kingdom, telling her that many others had gained protection with Elrond and were retreating north with him to find safety in some better defensible place. They, themselves, had been forced to retreat as well, and only saw Elrond from a distance.

So as if Galadriel had not felt guilty enough for those who died from Hollin and those who could from Lindon because of the advice she gave to Artanáro, she also had many years to fear for Elrond's safety and to wonder whether he would be one of those who would perish because of her, too.

She had wished to go and help him, but her promise to Findekáno still bound her, so she at least took her own advice to heart and went to the Noldorin city, to ask for volunteers to help him hold the place he chose as his best defence. The eagles told her it was a valley near the High Pass, and many of her people chose to go there, to repay Elrond for his attempt to save Hollin, and out of love for him, too. Some were also driven by hope of finding their kin and friends from Hollin there, alive.

With their help, the valley had been defended successfully from Sauron, holding out long enough that the forces from Númenórë could come.

That, to Galadriel, had been the biggest shock of this war, one that penetrated even her worry and grief.

Númenórë bestirred itself to help.

She never expected that, and did not understand it. Had Elrond been wrong, to say that Queen Telperien would not help them? Could he have been so entirely mistaken about something so important? She felt cut away in Lindórinand, not knowing what was going on.

But still, even after the last remnants of Sauron's creatures were cleared away from Eriador, it took Galadriel a long time to go and see Elrond.

She was held back by grief.

Even though she had known what would come for centuries, the loss of Hollin and deaths of Sarnel and Tyelperinquar hit her hard and she spent a long time wandering in the roads of memory.

She thought of her realm as it used to be before Sauron came, beautiful and full of joy for everyone, bringing a chance of friendship between elves and dwarves, a new life and opportunities for Sarnel and Tindómiel and many others who sought, for one reason or another, to leave Lindon and the lives they lived there. She thought of the beauty of everything, the mountains and the holly bushes and the wonderfully made houses, and the palace that she had loved so much. She knew Sauron had it burned down. She had expected it, but it still hurt.

She thought of the years in Narogrotto, too, when she first met Tyelperinquar, of his young awkwardness and shyness that warred with pride. Of the way he spoke of his mother, and the way he protected her. Of the enthusiasm with which he worked on both Lindon and Hollin when they were first founded. Of his ability to admit an enormous mistake, twice. He was, she thought, perhaps the one most punished by the Doom of her entire family. Well, after Nelyafinwë, but at least that cousin had done some truly terrible things. Tyelperinquar just trusted the wrong people. Even Lord Manwë, after all, had been taken in by Moricotto. Why did Tyelperinquar have to suffer so much? To watch his inventions turn to evil, to be betrayed, to feel his wife die...and even before, what he had to know his mother went through, what he had to know his father was...it was a cruel lot he had been given.

And Galadriel thought of Sarnel as a young girl again, already tough and not to be trifled with, as she sparred with Lord Laurefindil and listened to his war stories and struggled to learn everything she could from him, and did all she could to prove to her father that she was worthy of being his daughter. She never quite fully realized how proud he was or her, because he feared to tell her, remembering Ohtarwen. And now he would not be able to do so until the day he sailed. All because of Galadriel, because of her pride and her desire for her own kingdom, and her inability to control it. All this pain and loss, because of her.

She dwelt on all this for a long time, and even when the most acute of the grief passed and she was able to emerge from it a little, with Celeborn's help, there were others who needed to be taken care of. New refugees from Hollin, for one, but more importantly, her own family, who was also devastated by the loss.

Even Celeborn bore it hard, since he had grown attached to the realm during their centuries there. Celebrían, who had not known any other home before, was devastated.

And Avorneth and Mírdan...there were no words.

Avorneth was desperate, and for many years she could be seen weeping as she walked the forest with Celebrían at her side and remembered the lost family. But Galadriel knew her grief, recognized it from her own when her uncle or Findekáno had died, and knew that even though it hurt, Avorneth would be well again one day.

Mírdan, on the other hand, was drowning in his own pain, so much so that Galadriel feared there was no saving him. Still, she did what she could, and for decades she hardly ever left his side – and when she did, Brannor's daughters were by him to do her job – trying with all her strength to pull him away from the abyss over the brink of which he was hovering. But it was a battle against overwhelming odds. There were too many things he lost – both of his parents, and all of his friends, and his life's work. Houses of Mandos called to him not only as a way to escape his grief, but also because so many of those he loved were there, and almost none – save for his sister – stayed on this shore.

He was not getting better, but the battle for his soul was beginning to exhaust Galadriel, and one day, she had to conclude that as it was, she could do no more help there, and that on the contrary, she needed help now.

That was when she departed for Rivendell, her grief deepened by this new loss she could feel on the horizon. She hardly saw the landscape she rode through, her mind too preoccupied by other things.

Until, that was, she arrived.

When she first set her eyes on Elrond, she started to cry.

They held each other long and fast in that meeting after centuries, both weeping, and then Galadriel stepped away and Elrond said: "You were sorely missed, Aunt."

"I missed you as well, beloved, very much so. Painfully so. More than I can say. You and Artanáro, and Lord Laurefindil and Ambë...I missed you all so much it hurt."

"I was lost without you," he admitted, and then shook his head. "Let us go inside. Our talk will not be one for the public ear."

He gestured to the house behind him, big but rough, made of fresh wood. "It is not much," he admitted, "but it is homely and comfortable, I hope, and it can provide shelter."

"You mean to stay here, then?" She asked as they turned to it. "I expected you to return to Lindon as soon as the war was over."

He hesitated. "I will have to discuss this, with you and Artanáro both, and some others – Artanáro promised he would come here in time and we could all discuss the question – but...I take it you will not be renewing Hollin?" He asked carefully.

Galadriel gave him a very long look. "I apologize, Aunt," he said.

"I will never have another kingdom again," she replied simply.

"But surely..."

"No. I was wilfully misunderstanding the Doom when I chose to found one, and many elves paid for it with their lives. I will not make the same mistake again."

Elrond very wisely chose not to argue, and instead, he said: "In that case, I will almost certainly be keeping Rivendell, and I will attempt to take control of much of the region you used to rule to make sure there are no servants of Sauron in these lands. His power is expanding, and we need to have more strongholds if we want to keep some control here. The Númenoreans intend to build a proper, fortified harbour in the south, so together, we should be able to keep the land."

"Oh, yes, Númenoreans." Galadriel said as they entered a sparsely fusnished room with a big fireplace and comfortable-looking wooden chairs in front of it. "What happened? Why did they come? Were you wrong about Queen Telperien?"

"Not exactly, no," he noted as he stoked the fire. "I did underestimate her in some ways, though – she was wise enough to know that the time of her death was approaching, and she handed her nephew Minastir partial control of her kingdom to help him get ready for his future role."

Galadriel raised her eyebrows. "That could be both exceptionally wise or exceptionally unwise, depending on what is Minastir like and how well she controlled him."

"She gave him more freedom as years passed, the way I understand it, so the rule transferred more gradually than is usual in Númenórë. It was a good thing for the kingdom, as far as I can see. She was not a great queen, but she was good in some ways, much like Aldarion."

Galadriel grimaced but inclined her head, and they both sat down.

"There are also rumours," Elrond continued hesitatingly, "about a letter that made Minastir come and help us, letter that came from the West and reminded him of certain ties of friendship, and that was written...by a daughter of Númenórë."

"Tindómiel."

"Yes, I suspect so. Hope so."

Galadriel exhaled, and smiled in spite of herself. "So she is well in the West. That is...reassuring to know. And how very much like her to defy the timeless bliss of the land to worry about her homeland – both of them."

Elrond smiled as well. "It is, is it not?"

There was a short pause for fond remembrance of the lady, and then Galadriel said: "And speaking of worrying...one of the reasons I am surprised at you being here is because it is so far from Númenórë. I know you hardly went there when Ancalimë and her ilk ruled it, but it is gone now, and it seems there is a better king."

Elrond seemed a little rueful. "Yes," he agreed, "and they managed this without me, while all my advice during the bad times did no good. I will never stop going there entirely, or care for them and try to help them. I did give my word. But when I saw Minastir's army arrive, I realized I had been treating them like children in some ways. They can rule their own kingdom, and fare well enough with only letters from me and the occasional visit. I no longer have ties of love there, except perhaps in Silmariën's house a little, and they do not need me."

"And what about Silmariën's house, then?"

"They come to Middle-Earth from time to time, and I will of course still be going to see them very few years or so. It is not that far to the shore. Most of the journey is by the sea, so it does not make that much of a difference. But enough about me. How are you, Aunt? Are you...I will not ask you if all is well, for how can it be? I grieve for Sarnel too, and I was never as close to her as you were. But..."

Galadriel inclined her head in understanding of his unvoiced question. "I am as well as I can be, I suppose. Sarnel's death hurts, and the loss of Hollin hurts perhaps equally badly, and...Mírdan is going to fade, or sail if we can convince him to."

Elrond closed his eyes for a moment. "It is perhaps not surprising, but...poor Artanáro."

"And poor Avorneth," Galadriel added. "She lost everyone in such a short span of time. I am very glad she has my daughter at least."

Elrond gave a sad smile. "Yes, your daughter. You do not know how much it pains me that I have not met her properly, not seen her since she was a child. Artanáro tells me she grew to be a fine young elf. Not that I ever doubted that. She must have been some comfort to you in these difficult times."

Galadriel sighed. "Yes, Celebrían was in some ways the light of my days those last centuries, but...she is very much Celeborn's daughter."

Elrond shifted in his chair. "What do you mean?"

"Simply that she is like him both in aspect and in character. He sees himself in her, and rightly so. For me...I love my child with all my heart, but I do not truly understand her, and she does not understand me."

He seemed uncertain, and she smiled and shook her head. "If you ever have children, you will perhaps understand better. In spite of her being my daughter, I will never be as close to her as I am to Artanáro...or you."

"I would be very happy to meet your daughter properly and try to understand what you mean better," Elrond said musingly. "Not that I doubt you, of course," he added.

"Then, if you truly mean to stay here, I will bring her with me one day when I come to visit. If she is willing, that is." Valar knew Celebrían was everything but malleable.

"I will be here," Elrond confirmed, "though I will likely depart for a time to go visit Artanáro and consult with him unless he comes for that council soon. But yes, I would like to keep this valley, even though I am unsure if I am ready to rule my own land, however small. I never desired it, as you know, but I feel it is needed now, if you will not take up the mantle again." He paused for a moment, then said slowly: "Even if you refuse queenship...your advice would be much appreciated, since you know these lands well and have ruled it for years."

She looked at him intently. "What is it that you are offering, Elrond?"

He averted his eyes. "I feel like I dare too much...I cannot offer you to stay here, not when my house is such a rough shack. But any time you found to come and help would be valued, and perhaps one day when I have built a better house...I would not presume to ask you to be my advisor, but..."

She smiled at him and pressed his hand. "It is no presumption," she said. "I would be happy to help you." She considered. "I am still a member of Amdír's council, but I long to be with you here, at least for a time. We have spent too much time apart. Go to Artanáro and I will return to Lindórinand to consult with Amdír. After you come back, I will return as well – we will see for how long. And beloved...there are other things to consider."

"What things?"

"Tyelperinquar's rings." She told him what she knew, about the sixteen powerful ones Sauron no doubt took for his own. "He will hardly keep them all to himself. Any servants of his who have them, we will have to be careful of in the future. Avorneth is...not in a state to tell us much now, but once she is better, I will consult with her about the ways the rings are likely to show themselves. So tell Artanáro about this, too."

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Galadriel went to check on Mírdan as soon as she returned to Lindórinand, and all her fears were confirmed.

They had all done what they could, but when spirit was unwilling, it could not be forced.

"Nothing can be done," Galadriel finally said to Avorneth a few days later, leading her away from his sickbed, "he will have to sail."

"No," Avorneth muttered, "please, not now, please...can you keep him with us a little longer, can you…?"

"Why? If he is fading and has to sail, what does it matter whether he does now or in another hundred years?"

Avorneth hesitated. "It does not matter to him," she said then, "but it matters to me. I am not ready to go."

"We were talking about your brother."

"Yes, but...I cannot let him go alone, can I? I am the only one he has left."

Galadriel frowned at her. "Beloved...do you wish to leave Middle-Earth, at least a little?"

"No." Avorneth admitted. "I desperately wish to stay."

"Then you will not sail. It is a decision that cannot be taken back, and if you are so averse to it, you should not make it, not even for your brother. He is not in much of a state to appreciate your company anyway, and your grandfather," she gulped as she thought of Artanáro and his pain, "will ensure that he does not go alone. He will have company in the Blessed Lands, and hopefully at least his mother will be reembodied soon." Galadriel sighed. "It is a good thing Aman heals everything. When Sarnel finds out her son almost faded because of her death, she will be devastated."

That caught Avorneth's attention. "It was not only because of her death, or father's either," she said, "and I hope Mírdan will tell her."

"What do you mean?" Galadriel asked with curiosity.

Avorneth sighed. "It is also...well, guilt. In a way, Mírdan was even more convinced or Annatár's well-meaning nature than Father was. He would not hear a word against him. For my father, Annatár was mostly a means to an end, a valuable colleague and an intelligent co-worker, but to my brother...he was an idol, a hero. Had my brother made the rings, he would not have hidden any of them from Annatár. The feeling of betrayal, and of guilt for his misplaced trust, is cutting him deeply."

Galadriel frowned. "He has no reason to feel guilt, when even your father was taken in."

Avorneth shrugged. "I told him so, of course, but...it is not that easy, is it?"

No, it never was.

In fact, Galadrel herself felt guilt. Not only for the fall of Hollin, but for Mírdan's fading too. She knew that in the grief that followed the fall of that realm, her healing was not as strong as it otherwise would be. She was frustrated that she could not put her personal feelings aside to help, but it had been impossible. There was no other way. Mírdan had to sail.

He did not protest – he did not protest much of anything these days – as he was put on a horse and his sister and Galadriel rode next to him, with a sizeable entourage. The war made the lands west of the Mountains safe again, and so they could all go. At least, Galadriel thought, I will see Lindon again, after such a long time. At least I will see Artanáro.

But then she remembered that her bellowed nephew lost a daughter in her kingdom, a daughter she had sworn to protect, and suddenly even that turned sour.

There was little joy left when she saw what remained of the Great Forest after Sauron's armies went through it, too. It was gone, or at least the part of it where she had walked most often and that she knew best. She supposed that up to the north, some part of it still remained, but where Sauron's army marched, they destroyed.

 _What happened to the ents_ , Galadriel wondered. _Did_ _they run away, or_ _did_ _they die, fighting to protect the trees to their last breath?_ _Did_ _their spirits return to Eru? Was Treebeard gone?_

 _If you are with Eru, my lord_ , she thought, _put in a good word for me. I need help, all the help I can get._

They rode through the burned lands in silence, and it was only when they saw Grey Havens in the distance that their spirits lifted a little. Or Galadriel's did, at least, and she supposed the group of elves who were sailing with Mírdan, wishing to abandon these shores, felt something similar. They all had lived in Lindon for a time.

Lord Ciryatan and Arminas prepared them a rich welcome, even though the reason for their visit was so grim.

"How's Rodnor?" Galadriel asked as soon as she had a chance to speak to Lord Ciryatan privately.

"Not well," the Sinda admitted plainly. "He's...he blames himself for letting her go, for not sending a bigger army to help, for not sending it sooner...he blames himself for everything. He loved his daughter very much, you know."

"I do know." She hesitated. It seemed so selfish to ask, and yet… "Does he blame me?"

"No. I don't think he's capable of it. The Queen, perhaps, but not the king. He...feels for you, I think. He knows how much the kingdom meant to you."

"Hardly more than his daughter meant to him." There was a pause. "Do _you_ blame me, my lord?" She asked then, a little desperate.

Lord Ciryatan gave her a searching look. "Did you do all you could have to prevent this?"

"I thought so at the time, but now, in hindsight...I should've cast him out as soon as I knew of him, and dealt with the consequences later."

"But then, we don't know what the consequences would have been. It might've been worse."

"Worse? How?"

"You saved some of your people, didn't you?"

"Yes, but...Gorthaur wasn't strong enough to attack Hollin back then, not at the beginning. He'd have lost. I gave him enough time to win."

"My lady...even Lords of the West failed in a task like this, from what you've told me. Don't be too hard on yourself."

"I'll always be hard on myself in this. But I asked whether _you_ blamed me."

There was a small hesitation. "She was the king's beloved daughter," he said then, and Galadriel understood. He did not blame her for the fate of her kingdom, but he did blame her for her failure to save Sarnel.

"She chose to stay with her husband," she said weakly.

"And you making her commander had nothing to do with it?" He asked. "You knew it was a dangerous position. You knew how much our king loved her. And yet..."

Why, Galadriel wondered when she went to bed that night, had she thought seeing her old friends would make her feel better?

Artanáro and his family came the next day, so see his grandson before he sailed. Maewel's second daughter, it turned out, would be going with him, desirous of leaving war and suffering behind. The rest were staying, but gone was the pure bliss that used to sit on the faces of those who knew nothing but peace of the Second Age. Grief had taken its toll.

Galadriel feared speaking with Artanáro, but mastered herself and sought to do so at the nearest opportunity.

"How are you?" He asked her as soon as he saw her.

She laughed bitterly. "You are asking me?"

He shrugged, even though his pain was obvious both on his face and in his mind. "Sarnel is in Mandos now, and I have faith she will walk the lands of Aman soon. Your realm, on the other hand...it is gone, forever."

"Well, that was my own fault. As was your daughter's death."

Anger flashed in his eyes. "Have you driven the sword through her heart, or gave the order to do so? No. Then do not say that. Those who are truly guilty will pay for this, pay with their lives if it is the last thing I ever do, but you are not one of them. I will see their ruin. You, I wish to see healed."

"I could have saved her."

"It was her free choice to stay, was it not?"

"Yes."

"Then what else is there to be said?"

Galadriel looked at him for a very long time. "You truly do not blame me, do you?"

"No." His voice was harder than steel as he continued: "I have not known such fury or hate in my life, not even after my father and sister died, but...it has nothing to do with you. For you, I feel...pain, I suppose? And anger, too, at the hand you have been dealt. Why do I get to rule my kingdom for almost two millennia, while you..."

She shook her head. "The Doom, remember?" She said.

"The Doom! Have you not paid enough for that one mistake? Have you not been punished enough?"

"The Lords of the West do not appear to think so. There was no time limit for the Doom." She smiled bitterly. "Perhaps they simply did not expect me to live this long. Most of the others died, after all."

And then Artanáro held her in his arms, and he wept, and she wept, and they just stood together, two rulers with too long a memory helping each other to keep their sanity in a world that was growing darker again with every passing year.

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Galadriel missed Mírdan, but to her, he was mostly one of the causalities of Hollin, one of her people that she could not save, and Artanáro's grandson. Avorneth, on the other hand, took much longer to come to terms with his departure.

"I worry about her," Celebrían said to her mother one day as Galadriel sought her out to go for a walk. "I worry she will have to follow beyond the Sea. She blames herself for not going."

"Yes, I am aware. I had hoped it would pass soon, but it does not seem to."

"She has...her reasons for not wishing to sail now, and they complicate it."

Galadriel gave her daughter a sideways look. "She is in love with Ealc, is she not?"

Celebrían blinked. "Yes." She sighed. "You truly do always know everything, do you not?"

"I wish that was true. If I had known who Annatár was from the start...but that is beside the point. Why does Ealc complicate it? I would have thought that being in love would be a precisely the thing to distract Avorneth from grief at least a little. Valar know your father's help is invaluable to me in these difficult days."

"She has been wrapped up in her grief ever since her parents died – more, ever since we came here, mostly, or at least since her mother said they would not retreat even after she saw the future in the Mirror. She has only recently started to realize her feelings, and now Mírdan's departure complicated it again. She feels...I think she feels she has no right to be happy, that she does not deserve love, because she abandoned her brother for it."

"No one should sail West when they are not ready," Galadriel said resolutely, "not even for a family member. I would have advised her against going even had she not been in love."

"She would have likely not listened to you. It happens, you know." Celebrían said with light irony.

"Yes, beloved, I am well aware. Usually when the matter is most crucial, too." She shook her back. "Does Ealc not help with this?"

"I am not sure if she..." Celebrían trailed off.

Galadriel looked at her in surprise. "Do you not approve of the match?"

"I would not say that. I think I realized what was going on before Avorneth herself did, and I wish them happiness. But Ealc is...the Silvan culture is very different from both Noldorin and Sindarin ones. She is used to more straightforward dealings, and I feel like she does not know how to deal with Avorneth in this state of mind." Celebrían smiled. "Actually, her suggestion was a little like yours. She wishes to marry as soon as possible, because, as she says, that way she will be able to comfort Avorneth best in her loss. It is difficult for her, I think, not to read Avorneth's hesitation as rejection."

"I admit that I do not know her well, but Ealc strikes me as a very sensible elf. Surely she must see through all of Avorneth's hesitation to what is beyond it?"

"You forget that the Silvan do not look into each other's minds."

Galadriel's eyes widened. She had truly forgotten that. "But how can she tell if she feels the Flame, then?"

"I am not entirely clear on that, I admit. From what I know, it seems...well. The Silvan have barely any social structure or fixed roles. There are no such things as unsuitable partners among them, so hesitations and stumbling blocks are few and far between. It just seems that it is such a straightforward affair of mutual longing that, usually, there is no need to even see the other's mind. What she had told me when I asked was that I was overly concerned about minds when it was bodies that joined in marriage."

Galadriel frowned. "That reminds me uncomfortably of the desire that led The Dark Elf and Curufinwë."

"I suggest not telling Ealc so. It did not sound that way, at any rate, when she spoke about it. There was nothing dark and twisted, on the contrary, it seemed a lot more...straightforward." Celebrían shook her head. "It is a strange fate, I think, that the Sindar ended up living in realms with the Silvan, both here and in Greenwood...I feel that these are the two elven cultures that understand each other the least."

"Perhaps that is why," Galadriel replied. "Learning from each other might be the purpose."

"Ah, but are they learning? The Sindar live in the capital, keeping to themselves, and the Silvan do the same with the rest of the forest. It sometimes makes me wonder whether they truly are one realm at all."

That, Galadriel had to admit, was a very shrewd observation. "You have known all of the elven cultures except the Vanyar now," she said. "Which do you prefer?"

"The Sindar," Celebrían answered without a hesitation, "but then, it is the Sindar as I knew them through Father and those close to him, without the prejudices that I know sometimes fester in their realms. It is, I suspect, the Sindar after they lived with the Noldor for a long time, and been under strong influence. But the unhurried quality suits me."

"The Silvan lives are unhurried as well, are they not?"

"In a very different way. They are always shifting, always changing in some subtle ways. Nothing is ever very stable with them. The small communities fall apart and new ones are founded, people look to different elves as their leaders every decade or so...I would not like to live in such world, I think. The fixed one of the Sindar suits me, as long as the fixed rules are not wrong ones."

"Be glad you never knew Doriath, then." Galadriel might not understand Celebrían very well, but she was certain her daughter would have despised Singollo.


	58. Scandalized

**Chapter 58: Scandalized**

 _Year 1911 of the Second Age, Rivendell_

Galadriel came to an easy agreement with Amdír about Rivendell. She would spend up to half of every year there, and he would not mind as long as she came back if he sent for her, and stayed in Lindórinand whenever it acutely needed her help. They both hoped such a time would not come in the near future, or hopefully at all.

Elrond and his people did much hard work on the house that stood in Rivendell, and were slowly transforming it into not only safe, but also a comfortable and beautiful place to live, though easy defence of the valley was still a priority. Many of those Elrond had saved from Hollin stayed there now, as well as some who came from Lindórinand's Noldor, and they added to the reasons why Galadriel liked coming there.

She was still coming mostly alone, though. Avorneth was not quite well still and Celebrían did not like to leave her, so Elrond had to do without that elf's company. Celeborn did sometimes go with her, but mostly just when there was a council being held.

It was something Galadriel and Artanáro had agreed on, regular meetings with whoever represented Númenórë's king in the island's Middle-Earth colonies at the time. They used them to plan the defence of Eriador in detail. Lindórinand served as a kind of an advance guard in this, along with some of the smaller colonies of Númenórë by the river Isen. They all needed more fortification and troops and preparation, but gradually, Galadriel was beginning to believe that if Sauron tried again, they could push him back.

However, there was a price to be paid for this security. As the century passed, Galadriel was less and less happy with how she heard the representatives of Númenórë speak of the other Men of Middle-Earth.

"When you first came here under the orders of your old king," she could finally not control herself at one council meeting, "I saw desire to help these lands in you. Now, I wonder if your main desire is not to help yourselves."

Sakalthôr, the current administrator of the Middle-Earth colonies, scoffed. "Why do you care?" He asked. "We leave you alone, and these people here should be thankful we bestir ourselves to help them at all."

Galadriel gave him a scathing look, even as she saw pain flash in Elrond's eyes at this downfall of his brother's people he was witnessing again. "This is exactly what I meant," she said. "Under King Minastir, a man like you would have never achieved such a high position."

"Under King Minastir, there would have never been as many colonies to keep your precious Eriador safe," Sakalthôr retorted and, though unhappy, Galadriel had to admit he was right. "This land owes everything to us," he continued, "and we will take our due."

Galadriel could only bemoan the departure of so many elves West in the last centuries. As it was, there truly were not enough of them to help the Men of south Eriador without the Númenorëans. And however lordly Men of the West acted, they were still better than Sauron.

But the council left a bad taste in her mouth, and she sought to improve her mood. Fortunately, Lord Laurefindil was there, having arrived for the meeting. Just the person to always cheer her up.

"How long will you be staying?" She asked him.

"Indefinitely, I hope," he replied with a smile.

That surprised her. "Oh? You are relocating? Will Erestor be joining you here, then?" In spite of her personal reservations, she knew Elrond liked the scholar and would probably appreciate his advice.

"Not in the foreseeable future," Lord Laurefindil replied easily.

She blinked at him. "Forgive me if I am asking too personal a question, but...is there trouble between you and him?"

He gave her an amused look. "I cannot help feeling that you keep expecting to find your own objections to my husband in my mind."

She shook her head, smiling slightly. "Well, you are here, and he stayed in Lindon. It is not too much of a leap of thought."

Lord Laurefindil shrugged. "Artanáro needs some advisers to remain behind. Of those that served him while you still sat on the council, only Lady Amonel and Gildor remain."

"And Lalvon?"

"He came here with me, and will serve as Elrond's Chief Councillor. Erestor took on that position in Lindon."

"Erestor? Truly?" At Lord Laurefindil's look, she defended herself: "It is not my prejudice speaking, I am merely surprised. The two you mentioned are both more experienced."

"Yes, but Lady Amonel and Gildor both rejected the position."

That surprised Galadriel. "Do you know why?"

"Gildor is uncomfortable with too much responsibility, as I am certain you know. Lady Amonel...I am less certain, but if I understand the situation correctly, she feels she is there mostly as a representative of Lord Ciryatan, and as such, should not hold the highest rank in council." He paused, and gave her a smile that somehow managed to be both cheeky and respectful. "I am sure Erestor will manage perfectly well. Perhaps even get the council running more smoothly than the mildness of Lord Elrond did."

Galadriel gave him a returning smile. "And will Artanáro not miss your advice there?"

Lord Laurefindil shrugged again. "The King was gracious enough to understand that my loyalty is first and foremost to Lord Elrond. I have served him for long years, and though he did not like to see me go, I had his support. He has other good captains."

"You keep astonishing me lately, Lord Laurefindil," Galadriel admitted. "At first, it was the shock of finding out that Elrond went to war and you were not by his side..."

At that, all traces of good humour vanished from Lord Laurefindil's face. "That was...difficult for me," he admitted.

"Then why did you not go?"

"The king did not wish me to."

Galadriel winced. She was surprised Artanáro would do something like that to Lord Laurefindil, when he knew Elrond was the main reason the elf was in Middle-Earth at all. "Why?"

"Well, I am the Chief Commander. He did not wish to give the impression that the whole army was supposed to go. He apologized to me for that, but...well, as I said, it was difficult. The most difficult thing I have done since coming back to life, I believe. It was also likely the reason why the king agreed so easily that I could leave Lindon and stay by Lord Elrond's side."

"Who became the Chief Commander of Lindon after you, then?" She was curious.

"Anor."

"Truly?"

He tilted his head to the side. "Are you surprised, my lady? I recommended him myself."

"Perhaps a little – he is young, is he not?"

Lord Laurefindil laughed. "Young compared to us, yes – but he is almost two millennia old."

"So he is," Galadriel realized. "It is strange...we truly are one of the eldest left in Middle-Earth, are we not? In fact, you might actually be the eldest of the Noldor, since none are left of the generation of our fathers."

"Hm, yes, but I spent some time in the Halls of Mandos – I am not certain how exactly to count that."

"It was barely a couple of decades, Lord Laurefindil. That will not save you."

"But it was extremely rejuvenating!"

They both laughed together, and Galadriel looked into distance then in slight melancholy. "Do you realize," she said then, "that of all the people present in Middle-Earth now, I have known you the longest?"

He grew serious as well. "I do realize," he replied, "for the same is true for me."

"I certainly could not have foreseen, when the Sun first rose, that the two us us would be the only ones left of Nolofinwë's household."

"But I was not left, my lady," he reminded her gently.

"True." She gave him a long look. "Tell me if you can, Lord Laurefindil, what made you return? You, of all others? You were not the only one with a duty."

"Few have been allowed to leave the Halls of Mandos at the time of the war, and of those many had their loved ones in Aman-"

"So did you. Your mother stayed with her lady, I remember that, and your father died in the Ice. Surely he has been released from the Halls?"

"He has. If he had not been, I could not have returned – I could not have left my mother there alone. As it was, they were together and I was unattached, as you know. We discussed it with Ehtelion in detail. One of us, we decided, would have to go, while the other would have to stay. He felt more reluctant than I did, so I offered."

Galadriel shook her head. "I have always maintained," she said, "that you are one of the most honourable and devoted elves ever to walk the world, but your commitment to duty astonishes me all the same. Most, I believe, would say that dying for it once was enough."

Lord Laurefindil smiled. "That is what Lady Itarillë tried to tell me when I suggested the possibility of staying in Middle-Earth, yes. But as I see it, that would only hold true if I detested my duty and wished to be released from it."

"And have you never done so?"

He looked away.

"Lord Laurefindil," she chided gently. "You do not have to answer me, but do not believe I would judge you for that, in your thousands of years of service."

He sighed. "I did not wish to leave Aman, that first time," he said at length. "Neither did my father. But our oath was to Lord Turukáno, and we felt bound by it, even when your uncle said that all who wished could return with your father. We still felt it was wrong, though, and parting with mother was painful."

Galadriel closed her eyes for a moment. "I see now," she said, "why you were returned from the Halls so soon."

Lord Laurefindil shrugged. "Your brother wished to go, if I understand the situation correctly, and yet he was the first to be returned."

"Ingoldo's reasons were...complicated, and you are right that they were not completely selfless, but then, he made up for that by his selflessness once in Middle-Earth." She smiled. "You know, I believe that he was given that blessing chiefly for his love for the Second born. He was one of the few elves who truly treated them as equals."

"Surely you would have the same distinction, then."

"I loved Elros, and so I loved his descendants," Galadriel replied. "I did not, however, have the same kind of unconditional, equal love for the race of Men my brother did."

There was a short silence, in which Galadriel thought of her temptation to control them with her mind. It seemed so long ago. "I find it rather ironic," she spoke again, "that you did not wish to leave Aman all those years ago, but you were the only one to come back now."

"We were not forbidden this time," he replied simply.

"Duty truly does come first for you, does it not?"

"Yes."

There was nothing more to be said on this topic, and Galadriel wondered for a while about Lord Laurefindil's unique character, and about what was under that perfectly loyal surface. He had to be lonely, especially now he would be without Erestor. But then, so many of them were.

"Erestor took on Elrond's formal position," she said aloud, "but I do not suppose he quite has the informal one with Artanáro?"

"No. They are friends, of course, but...beside you and his direct family, I do not think anyone can ever be as close to the king as Lord Elrond. Their bond is strong, and it grew perhaps even stronger in your absence."

Galadriel only nodded to that. It was impossible for Artanáro to have the same relationship to the scholar as he had to Elrond, who was like his younger brother. "That is natural enough." She sighed. "I find it...hard to bear that Artanáro will be left without his closest friends in these difficult times, and yet I do see why Rivendell needs to be kept as a fortress. I feel rather guilty about leaving Artanáro, though. I told Elrond when I was leaving for Hollin that one of us would always have to stay with him… There are moments when I truly feel I should return to Lindon."

"And what holds you back, my lady?"

"Amdír accepted us when our way to Lindon was cut off, and we swore our loyalty to him in turn. He would likely not forbid me to go, since he does not truly see himself as my king, the way he does with the rest of the kingdom," even though Galadriel had some doubts of that as well, with the shaky level of control he had hinted at, "but I will not abandon him. He no longer tolerates me grudgingly. While I will never have such a relationship with him as I have with Artanáro, he relies on my advice. I would be repaying him poorly if I left now, after what he has done for me and my people. And there are other reasons. I will not leave what remains of my people there, and then I have...other ties." She thought of the Mirror, glistening on a clear night. She did not wish to explain that at the moment. "Besides, I know Celeborn is happy in Lindórinand with his kin, and we have spent over seven hundred years in Lindon with my kin already."

"And yet you feel guilty?" Lord Laurefindil sounded surprised.

"Yes. Artanáro is..." Artanáro was Artanáro, and she found it hard to put it to words that hardly anything would ever take precedence in her heart, even though her mind understood there were other priorities. "I see my duty to him almost as before my duty to all others."

Ho inclined his head in acknowledgement of his understanding. "I am certain Lord Elrond benefits greatly from your advice, too," he offered.

"Certainly I feel my obligation to Elrond strongly as well, and had you not been here, I would never consider leaving him. But you are, and Artanáro has been left alone."

Lord Laurefindil raised his eyebrows. "Those are strong words, my lady. The King has his wife and his daughter's family with him, as well as Lord Ciryatan. And he has been king for almost two millennia now."

"Lord Ciryatan is in the Havens...but you are right." She smiled at him. "Elrond does need my help more. It is only that I have promised to Artanáro that I would never abandon him, and now, I sometimes feel like I did." And her uncle's words sounded in her head again: _do not take too much responsibility upon yourself, beloved_. And so she exhaled, and attempted to let go.

-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g

„May I speak with you, Aunt?" Avorneth asked one day not very long after Galadriel returned from Rivendell, standing at the door to her house.

„By all means. Do come in."

Avorneth entered and seated herself in one of the comfortable chairs with the view of a beautiful cluster of flowers just beyond the window. Galadriel settled herself next to her.

"What do you need?" She asked.

Avorneth hesitated. „I do not know if Celebrían told you, but Ealc and I wish to marry," she said at length, without preamble.

„Yes, I have assumed so, even before my daughter confirmed it." Galadriel smiled. „Congratulations."

"Thank you." There was a moment of quiet happiness on Avorneth's face, but then she grew serious. "I would like to simply enjoy the cheer of that, in spite of all the tragedies of the recent past, but there is one thing that troubles me. Ealc insists that if we marry, we will have to live outside the capital."

Galadriel frowned. "Why? Surely...I mean, you both live here." Ealc was one of the relatively few Silvan who did, at least part of the time. Yes, the capital was very Sindarin, but if she had not minded until now, why should she suddenly start? "Why should you move just because you marry?"

"Ealc claims it is because of the Sindar."

Galadriel shook her head. "I do not understand."

Avorneth looked away. "Because of their views on the Select."

Galadriel scoffed. "So she believes you should move out of the city you both live in to avoid provoking some old Sindar burdened by prejudice? I do not think so." She was very surprised Ealc did, in fact. It did not seem like her style, from the little she knew of her. The elf certainly did not seem to suffer from over-abundance of respect for her elders.

It was Avorneth who shook her head this time, very decisively. "Ealc told me that it is more than that. She says that the...agreement with the ruling Sindar is that everyone who chooses to live in the capital will do so according to the Sindarin customs. That includes no Select living there, at least not openly. And she is unwilling to lie or pretend."

Galadriel's mind seemed to come to a complete stop for a moment.

When it began to work again, her first thought was: no, this could not be happening again. She could not be again living in a realm that cruelly punished some of its own people out of prejudice, she could not be unwittingly part of that again, she could not. And so: "No," she said aloud, rising. "This will not happen to you. You will not have to make this choice. I will not allow it."

Avorneth opened her mouth, then seemed to change her mind and closed it, staying silent for a moment. At length, she said: "Aunt, I did not come to you to ask you to change the laws of this land. We are guests here still. If Ealc says it is like this, it is like this. She seems surprisingly at peace with it, so there must be some good reason for that. I simply wanted to ask if you knew how exactly this worked..."

"I will speak to Amdír. I will not tolerate this, not as long as I am on the council. He tricked me by not telling me, not telling any of us, and I will not let it lie."

And she rose and headed to the king's house before Avorneth could say anything else. Yes, her relationship with Ealc was her private business, but this was more than that. This was bigger than that.

"Amdír," she said sharply as soon as she entered and saw that the king was alone only with his son, "have you neglected to tell me something about how the Select live in your realm?"

He closed his eyes and appeared to be in pain. "Yes," he said, "I have."

"Why?" Her word was as sharp as a whip. Amroth quietly excused himself.

"Because I know opinions and customs of the Noldor. I knew you'd never come to peace with that."

"And so you let all of us live in a lie!" She all but shouted.

He pursed his lips. "Only you and your immediate family, and Avorneth. The Noldor can do what they want, in that city of theirs. Feliel certainly does, from what I hear. It's only the capital that faces these restrictions."

"Haven't you told my husband how you had to accede to the Silvan way?" Had that been a lie, too?

"Yes, but that was in Greenwood," he replied. "Oropher, as you know, chose to accept the Silvan lifestyle, and though he resented it at first, this was part of it and there were simply too many Silvan to argue with them. Here...the Silvan were few and scattered about the forest, and none live in the capital."

"And so you used their small number to impose your prejudiced view on them!" She was shocked to hear him openly admit to something like that.

"It wasn't me who made this choice!"

"I see. You're, after all, only the king," she said mockingly.

"Yes," he repeated, "I'm only the king."

They stared at one another for a long moment, then Amdír exhaled and flung himself into a chair, gesturing to the other one. "I've already told you some of the tale of my departure from Greenwood," he said. "There were, of course, a few close friends of mine and their families who went with me because of their loyalty to me and their fear of what Oropher was becoming. But over half of who went were those who were unwilling to come to terms with the adoption of Silvan culture Oropher had opted for. Their...dislike of the Strange was part of it, but it wasn't all by far. When we came here, they demanded that the capital be made a haven of the Sindarin way of life and that no Silvan customs be permitted inside. What could I do? They had the majority, and I hadn't even been king then, remember that."

Galadriel closed her eyes, so strongly reminded of her own experiences in Hollin it was painful. She thanked the Valar that there, at least, the Sindar had not had a majority. Then, however, she thought of Lindon, where they did. "Rodnor was in the minority with the Noldorin approach too," she said, "and he still managed."

Amdír grimaced. "Rodnor was the lawful High King of the Noldor, supported in the claim by you, Glorfindel and Gildor, the oldest remaining Noldorin lords, and by Elrond and Celeborn, the highest remaining representatives of the Doriath Sindar. Círdan, too, accepted him as king. My own claim on the throne, on the other hand, is tenuous at best. I'm not descended from kings, the best I can say is that one of my cousins was a queen and another is king now. My support is much less certain than his. You knew all this already."

Yes, but she never knew what price his people paid. "And so you sacrificed the Select for support?"

"Wouldn't you have done so?" He asked her sarcastically.

And the trouble was, Galadriel could not be certain. She wished to say that no, never, she could not do such a thing...but if she got the chance, directly after arriving in Middle-Earth, to have her own realm and the price she would have had to pay would be that the Select could not live in the capital...could she truly say, with full confidence, that she would have refused that temptation? Would she have been strong enough? She found it was better not to think about.

"I wouldn't do so now, at any rate," she said, "and I refuse to accept it."

He gave her a bitterly amused look. "You'll have to, it seems to me, if you wish to stay on the council. You can, of course, resign and move to the Noldorin city, but the Sindar of this realm won't change for you. They didn't change for Oropher, and they saw him as their king."

Galadriel shook her head, staying silent for a moment. She could see that Amdír was unhappy with the situation too, but still, she could not believe he was quite as powerless as he made himself look. She suspected he simply did not care enough. "You said you trusted Ealc with your life. With the life of your son. How do you feel about casting her out, then?"

Amdír blinked. "Ealc is Strange?"

" _Select_. Yes. Didn't you know?"

"I don't ask such things, I'm not a Noldo," he muttered.

"I don't ask either, but she's marrying Avorneth."

Amdír closed his eyes. "I'm sorry."

Galadriel immediately bristled. "For what? Unlike you, I don't consider it a shame!"

"No, I didn't mean it like that. I mean...that they'll have to move out."

"We'll see about that."

Galadriel left the king's house at that, deep in thought. She would not let that stand, she would not, not again. There had to be some solution, some way to break these unjust rules...she was halfway into forming a plan when she remembered Avorneth's words: _I did not come to you to ask you to change the laws of this land. We are guests here still. If Ealc says it is like this, it is like this. She seems surprisingly at peace with it, so there must be some good reason for that._

What if there was? Everything in Galadriel revolted at the idea but it did not, after all, primarily concern her. Ealc, and Avorneth, would be the ones directly affected. She needed to at least consult with them before she did anything. She was not the one who feel the results of whatever she did, after all.

She found Avorneth again as soon as she could. "Beloved," she said, "what do you want me to do?"

"What do you mean?"

Galadriel summarized her talk with Amdír. "This is your life, your business, not mine, and so I ask: what do you want me to do? I will go with you to the Noldorin city if you want me to, I will fight the entire council, but tell me what you want."

Avorneth seemed a little taken aback. "Let me consult with Ealc."

"Of course." She, in turn, would talk to her husband. Perhaps his Sindarin perspective could offer a way out.

-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-

"Did you speak to Amdír about the Select?" Galadriel asked Celeborn some days later.

"Yes. It's truly a difficult situation, for him. He's not as opposed to them as many of his people, but he has to keep peace."

"My sympathy, I admit, is rather limited, but...how come Amdír is so much more open-minded than his lords? He's from Doriath too, and spent a few centuries there before it fell. I know he lived outside of Thousand Caves, but..."

Celeborn nodded. "As I found out in our talk, that's the crucial difference. I know we speculated already that the approach to this was freer there, but..."

"But?"

"I didn't know how much. We discussed this at length, and it seems that Select...romance, let's say, was regarded a little like normal couples," Galadriel frowned at his word choice, "becoming too intimate before their wedding ceremony. Wrong, certainly, but all knew it happened from time to time. It was not discussed publicly, but it was not a terrible disaster. From what Amdír told me, people tried to keep their Select relationships from becoming completely public, but the closest friends and family usually knew. It was a bit of a...like a dirty secret, it seems to me. Amdír said that people used to start rumours about others being Select if they wished to discredit them, and so on. It was..." he sounded in pain. "It was something to make fun of."

Galadriel stared at him, incredulous. "And you tell me that was better than in Thousand Caves?"

"Yes," he said heavily.

"Celeborn..."

He looked away from her, and she could sense guilt and shame in his mind as he said: "My love, in Thousand Caves, no one knew if someone was Select. No one. People avoided entering any relationships of that sort. If you revealed it, you risked being driven out of the city."

Galadriel gasped. From what Lord Ciryatan had said, or from what Celeborn had said, she never had any idea it had been that terrible. "You never told me that."

"No," he admitted. "I wished to spare you the details, but...you need to understand the differences, I think. You need to understand where the attitude the Sindar here seem to have comes from. Thousand Caves is where some of them got the idea for their capital here. People who were suspected to be Select...well, they never got any position in Thingol's court, and they faced prejudice and disgust at every step. They weren't expelled directly – there were no laws as such, concerning this – but they invariably found it easier to leave, mostly for the more distant parts of Region, though from what Amdír says it was much better in their seat in Neldoreth too."

Galadriel sat down on her bed, staring into the distance. She had lived in that realm for half a millennium. And all this time, there had been such injustice going on, under her very nose, and she never noticed, too preoccupied with her own worries and cares, with her own polished world. She wished she could at least say she had other big things to worry about, but it was not entirely true. In the last century or two, certainly, but before that? Before that, she had just lived her comfortable life, not paying attention. And she had thought she was ready to be a queen. Oh, how ashamed she was to remember that!

"I understand why you tell me this," she muttered, "but I was truly happier not knowing. Please...do not tell Avorneth, or Ealc."

"Do you believe they could not bear the knowledge?"

"No. They could both bear anything. But there is no need to burden them. Avorneth has gone though enough pain already in the last centuries, and there is no way to change the injustices of the past now. It pains me to think of them, and they do not concern me. I can't even imagine...it must be difficult enough here. Let's shelter them from that knowledge."


	59. Change

**Chapter 59: Change**

 _Year 2000 of the Second Age, Lindórinand_

Not even in her most hopeful dreams could Galadriel have predicted what would happen after her little talk with Avorneth.

It started out slowly, of course, as things are wont to with elves – even with the Silvan, who were more used to change.

There was talk. Not in the capital, but everywhere outside of it, Galadriel was becoming aware of an increasing state of unrest.

Then, Ealc came to consult with her.

"Avorneth tells me," she said, "that the capital is truly important for you?"

Galadriel was frankly confused by the question. "Well, it's where King's council meets, but I told her I was willing to leave it for her."

Ealc shook her head. "I didn't mean you personally. If I understand what she said right, you – your kind of elves – seem to think that whatever happens in the capital should be a model for the rest of the land?"

Galadriel thought about it. "Well...I suppose you could put it that way, yes. Certainly it's seen as the most important place, because it's close to the king, and has the most influence on him. It's the showcase of the realm, so to speak." She paused. This was beginning to look like a long conversation. "Will you have some wine?" She asked.

Ealc waved the offer away. She did not even sit down, choosing instead to pace as she continued: "So when the Sindar came and told us they'd have their city run by the Sindarin customs, it wasn't just them trying to live by their own rules, like all others did in this forest. They were trying to...they were saying theirs were the right rules."

"Well...this doesn't depend on the capital so much. What's more important are the rules the king follows. He's the one who sets the tone for the realm. Or is supposed to, anyway." Valar knew it was not true in Lindórinand, and apparently had not been quite so in Doriath either. But Ealc was right that there was still a certain air of superiority to whatever the ruler and those close to him did, as if the other customs were merely tolerated. Galadriel was quite certain that those from the outer edges of Doriath did not cheerfully tell Singollo about the way they broke the rules he considered sacred at his court. It was understood it could have repercussions. This fear was perhaps lesser in Lindórinand, but still, it was not completely dissimilar.

"And the king lives in the capital," Ealc continued in an equally incensed voice, "and so he goes by its rules."

"Well, yes."

"And yet he claims to be the king of all who live in this forest!"

Galadriel frowned at the anger in her voice. "You knew all of this already, surely? He collects the levies from you and sets the number of patrols you need to organize around the borders, and he's done so almost since he came here, from what I understand."

"Oh, yes – but until discussing this with Avorneth, I had no idea what he and his Sindar thought it _meant_." Ealc looked ready to spit. "We have no kings, did you know that?"

"Yes, I did know. I've always wondered how exactly you ruled yourself."

"We don't – not in the manner you're used to. We live in small settlements, much smaller than this capital city. These settlements choose their own council, and that organizes matters. Sometimes these representatives meet in a great council, but it's only very rarely nowadays. We met when Amdír came. We considered his proposal of becoming king, as he said." Again, she looked she was about to spit. "We thought it simply meant an offer to take care of some of the day to day things the great council used to have to gather for. We used to name people for these duties, you know. They took turns, working in service of the council and all the elves of the forest. What Amdír suggested seemed efficient. If his people allowed him to hold this position permanently, we thought, that must mean he's skilled. If he was willing to take on the additional work, well, why not? The great council would have to approve all of his major decisions, or so we thought. If the Sindar were used to having a single one person organizing matters for them instead of different officials, we thought we could just as well make use of that. The levies he suggested were approved, and it seemed worth it, all in all, to have someone with experience prepare for the possibility of another war. None of us wanted to do that, or really knew how." Ealc was clearly furious now. "Of course," she said, "no one bothered to explain to us what the word king truly meant to you. What he thought he was. What authority he believed he had over us, and what a capital meant to you. All these years, we believed that we lived as equals with these Sindar that we've accepted into our realm, and now Avorneth explains to me that they saw us as...as someone ruled over!"

"None of you realized this?" Galadriel had some trouble imagining that.

"Why would we? None of the Silvan ever had an idea like this. We live in freedom," she declared. "We always have. How are we to understand slavery when it comes?"

Galadriel frowned at the strong word. "Kingship is not slavery..."

"No? How else would you call forcing someone to live under rules they don't accept, but have no right to change?"

Galadriel sighed. "Far be it from me to defend the Sindar in this, but they didn't force most of you, did they? You can live as you want in your communities."

"Can we? I looked it up in the written Sindarin laws of this realm, since it seems they're so important to you. Do you know what happens if a Sinda is accused of misbehaviour in one of our communities? He's judged by the Sindarin laws. Or that is what the king thinks would happen, at any rate. I think he'd be surprised. But if one of us acts out in the capital? Why, Sindarin laws for us as well. If any dispute includes a Sinda in any way, it's meant to follow the Sindarin rules. This is not justice."

No, Galadriel had to agree, it was not.

"And even beside that," Ealc continued, her anger not abating, "if the king truly believes he and his council rule the entire realm...how could he not offer any of us a place on that council? You came and he welcomed you there, and yet there's not one Silvan elf advising him! Not one!"

Galadriel was slowly beginning to understand. "You thought his council was like the ones that organize matters in your towns?"

"Yes! But instead, he thought it was a great council of sorts!"

"Well," Galadriel ventured, "you didn't invite any of the Sindar in your great council, did you?"

Ealc laughed bitterly. "We did. As soon as they came and founded their city, we did. We told them to choose a representative. They told us the king handled matters for them, and that he didn't need a place in our council. We should have suspected then..."

"Has it truly never come up before? Surely in the centuries..." Galadriel should not be so surprised, though. After all, she had not noticed the injustice in Doriath in half a millennium, and she had lived right in the capital.

"We live apart," Ealc said. "There've only been a few mixed marriages, and in all of those cases, the couple lives in the capital. Follows the Sindarin rules. We thought that was natural because of where they lived. As far as I know, we've only ever had to punish a few Sindar in any of our settlements – they rarely come there, and we have very few rules. In all the cases I know of, the punishment was banishment from that particular settlement. They always respected it – but now I'm not sure if that wasn't mostly accidental. As I've said, they rarely come there."

"But you, personally, have lived in the capital, haven't you?" Galadriel insisted.

"On and off, yes. And I knew about their silly rules, I just never thought they all more or less believed the rules applied to us as well, to all of us. They never asked us what we thought, they just...I'm so angry."

"You have a right to be," Galadriel acknowledged.

"It never came up, until now, with Avorneth."

Galadriel remembered her plea to Celeborn to keep silent on the situation in Doriath, and asked: "Would you have been happier not knowing?"

"No! I'm grateful to know. If I didn't, how could anything change?"

"What do you plan to do, then?"

Ealc was silent for a moment before she said: "The Silvan don't, in general, care about what happens in the capital. It's far away from them and not their business. But with Avorneth's help, I'll make them care, because we've ignored their arrogance for too long."

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After this, the unrest in the forest increased, enough that even Amdír gradually noticed and asked his council what was happening. As it was, however, all of his councilmen were Sindar and none could help him. Not even Amroth, who walked in the forest more often and further than the others, understood the situation. "It's something very strange, to be sure," he said. "I've never seen anything like it here. But I don't know, and when I tried asking some of the Silvan, they refused to speak to me."

A worried murmur went through the council.

Galadriel waited for them all to leave the council room, to be alone with Amdír and Celeborn, before she spoke. "The Silvan," she said, "realized they aren't quite seen as equals of the Sindar in your realm, and they aren't happy."

"What have you been telling them?" Amdír asked immediately.

Celeborn have him an exasperated look. "You keep a realm in injustice for two millennia," he said, "and then you accuse my wife of meddling when those you've wronged demand what is their right?"

Amdír frowned at him and said, his tone unfriendly: "Well, she did say something, didn't she?"

"Because you believe the Silvan incapable of choosing to act on their own?" Galadriel asked him mockingly. "All I did was explain to them what the situation, as it was, meant to the Sindar and the Noldor," she said then. "And I spoke to you first, before that," she added. "You told me your hands were tied. Well...I believe you're about to find out how tied exactly."

"Is that a threat?" He asked, outraged.

Galadriel scoffed. "Not from me. You do realize that the majority of your realm are the Silvan, don't you?"

"What, should I fear them waging war?" The disbelief in his voice showed Galadriel he was still not taking the danger to his realm seriously enough.

"No," she assured him, because she was not worried that the Silvan would wish to do harm to anyone. "But you should fear them no longer accepting you as king."

"They have no other king," he pointed out.

"And they never needed one before you came along."

It seemed that this had never occurred to Amdír, that they could simply continue to live in the forest without swearing fealty to anyone. He was stumped for a moment. "They'll perish in the war with Gorthaur without one!" He said then, suddenly sounding a little desperate.

Galadriel gave a languid shrug. "Perhaps. But so will you without them."

"Help me, then. Help me pacify them." He was pacing now, disturbed from his calm.

"With what? Empty words?"

"I explained the situation to you! This wasn't my decisions, and I can't just change it without losing my realm!"

"You'll lose your realm if you _don't_ change it, too," Galadriel pointed out.

"Talk to your Sindar, and let them understand that if they wish to keep living comfortably in this realm, they'll have to change their approach," Celeborn suggested. "Not even all of us who lived in Thousand Caves were quite so strong-headed about things, and there are many young ones among your people. They'll listen."

"It was the strong-headed ones who left Greenwood with me," Amdír said despondently. "Who will your Noldor side with?" He asked then, turning to Galadriel.

She gave him a half-amused, half-incredulous look. "Amdír, are you trying to recruit my people to avoid treating your own fairly? It'll never happen." Besides, Feliel ruled the Noldorin city, and there was not the slightest doubt who she would side with. "This is a problem you created by your rule, and I won't say a word in support of this injustice in front of my people."

"You'd rather see me lose my kingship, me, who accepted you into their realm when you needed shelter?"

Galadriel gave him a long look. "I'll protect you against harm in every way. But I've lived in an unjust realm once – though unknowingly – and I won't do it again."

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Galadriel told the tale of the Silvan unrest to Elrond during her next visit to Rivendell, and could see him shake his head sadly at the news. "Why are there so many cases of unjust rulers in the world?" He asked her. "Growing up under your governance, and then Artanáro's, I think my standards are too high. Even watching my brother...it simply never occurred to me that a king might not have the best interests of his people at heart. But now...when I look at Amdír, at Númenórë..."

"Amdír's intentions are not evil," Galadriel tried to defend him, "it is only…."

"I know that. It is the same with Númenórë. None of the kings and queens have had evil intentions, and yet...Atanamir, the king's heir at the moment, is a dangerous man in my opinion, truly dangerous. His prejudices and personal hatreds are so strong, I...I have not been going to Númenórë as often ever since I came to Rivendell, as you know, but after he becomes king...I do not believe I will be welcome any more." He shook his head. "I had believed things were going better, but...did I make a mistake by moving to Rivendell after all?"

"Were you able to prevent Ancalimë from being a terrible queen by living in Lindon?" She returned, reminding him of his own reasoning.

"No," he admitted. "Nor by frequent visits. But still, this hurts. Everything fell apart when Silmariën did not become queen. Everything."

"Meneldur in himself would not have been so bad," Galadriel pointed out.

"No, but...why did I ever think that you were wrong?" He asked desperately.

She smiled at him. "Because I am, frequently and about many things, as you know. I simply was not in that case. Do you still visit Andúnië when you go to Númenórë?"

"Yes. That is the one place in the island where I am still happy, where I can still remember Elros. Lately, I have been only spending a few days in the capital before I departed there. It was made clear to me that I was not welcome in Armenelos for longer, and I did not feel well there. But..." He looked at her beseechingly. "I gave my word."

Galadriel pressed his hands. "You cannot help them against their will, beloved. You have to understand and accept that, as had I. At some point, you have to see the situation for what it truly is and leave, however much it hurts. You have to respect their decisions. Keep coming to Andúnië, and encourage its lords to accept whoever wishes to dwell there into their lands, give your advice there...but if you are not welcome in Armenelos, do not force your presence on them."

He nodded mutely. "Can we please discuss something else?" He asked then. "Thinking of Númenórë tears me apart."

"Very well, then. How is Rivendell doing, as a realm? Does Lalvon find the role of Chief Councillor easy to manage?"

"Relatively so, yes. He is only learning in that position, of course, but he is not bad at it."

Galadriel had not expected him to be. He had sat on Dior's council and Artanáro's council both, and so had more experience than most others. She thought of him as he had been in Thousand Caves, one of the young elves who were brought forward after the tragic deaths of so many in the Sack of Doriath.

She knew he carried guilt for not saving his king and escaping instead, and so she had not been surprised when he chose to go stay with Elrond. What was a little more unexpected was Elrond choosing him as his right hand, when as far as Galadriel knew, there was no particular personal friendship between them.

When asked about this, Elrond smiled. "You know that in truth, it is you who is my chief councillor. You, and Lord Laurefindil. But Lord Laurefindil prefers to be the chief commander, and he is better suited to it. And Lalvon has had long practice with the day to day aspects of council work. His experience is valued."

"Are his opinions valued as well?" Galadriel asked, remembering from Lindon that he used to hold some quite conservative Sindarin views.

"We do disagree on some things, it is true," Elrond confirmed, "but even if I do not accept his approach, it is good to have a different point of view."

It was, but Galadriel was not so certain it was best in one's chief councillor. _Elrond is an adult, and an independent ruler,_ she told herself firmly. _It is his choice, and he knows what he is doing._ _You made your point already._

"Besides," Elrond said lightly, "Lalvon, from what I hear, was often unhappy with my grandfather's decision making while in Thousand Caves."

"He was not alone in that," Galadriel replied.

"Precisely. That was a good recommendation, would you not agree – someone who had the same experience as you in this respect should surely be worthy of notice?"

Galadriel laughed. "I do not wish to insult your grandfather, beloved, but disagreeing with him alone proves no great degree of wisdom."

Elrond returned her laugh. "I realize that, but it is a start, is it not? In any case, I would like you to talk to Lalvon at some point. He's not here now, but on some of your future visits, perhaps? I feel he is unsure in the exact nature of his position, even though I have tried to explain to him that first and foremost you are my chief councillor when it comes to actually giving advice, but that you cannot hold the position on a permanent basis and so I need him. And for all the hard work that goes with it, too."

Galadriel laughed again. "Yes, Valar forbid I ever did any hard work!"

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Galadriel stopped in Hadhodrond on her way back to Lindórinand, as she usually did, and spent a few days visiting with king Lómi. His vitality astounded her. He was two and half centuries old now, and she feared his death any day, but instead, he looked as fit and healthy as he had a hundred years ago.

"I believe, king, that you'll surpass even your father in the age you reach, and he was long-lived," she told him as she sat in his rooms.

To her surprise, he gave a sharp look in response to that. "What do you mean?"

"I was merely making an observation, and giving a compliment. Though your reaction does make me wonder – is there some particular secret behind your long life?"

Instead of an answer, he frowned.

She waved her hand. "You needn't answer me. Your secrets are your own."

He sighed. "I suspect you wouldn't say that if you knew the truth behind it."

"I know you believe us elves to be nosy..."

"You are! All of you, but you at least usually give good advice in return." He frowned again. "I'll tell you, but it's a secret of this realm, not something to be shared with your Sindarin friends."

"I'll admit you made me curious."

Instead of answering in words, he touched his finger, and suddenly she saw a ring on his palm.

It took her a moment to realize what it meant.

"Gorthaur's rings," she said then, incredulous. "He gave you one of them!"

"They aren't Gorthaur's rings," king Lómi replied in anger, "and I didn't get it from him! Your cousin Celebrimbor, if you still remember him, made them, and he was the one who gave this to me."

Galadriel scoffed. "Celebrimbor knew Gorthaur could sense them and control them," she said, "He'd have never given you one, he knew they couldn't be used!"

"He believed that," king Lómi agreed, a little calmer now, "but my grandfather convinced him to leave at least one of the rings he made with us. We swore to keep it safe as Gorthaur laid waste to Hollin, and to only carefully try to use it later, to see if we could. And...we can. We've been growing richer and longer-lived with its help, without any ills befalling us."

"I might believe Celebrimbor gave it to you to keep it safe," Galadriel replied. "He loved his inventions well, and he would have been easy to convince with the hope that one of them at least might survive. But he'd have never told you to use it, or agreed to give it to you if you said you would."

King Lómi looked away. "I never knew him, of course," he said, "but from the notes my grandfather left, it seems to me he only meant for us to use it if Sauron is defeated. My father, however...chose differently, and he lived his life in peace with the ring on his finger. So I followed his example."

"Then you father acted like a fool," Galadriel replied, unable to control herself. "Just because you can't see any effect on you doesn't mean Gorthaur isn't slowly wrapping you around his finger, little bit at a time. Remember Hollin."

"It's different," the king replied. "You live for ever. We don't. He has less time with us, and as long as we each only wear the ring for a century or so, we're safe."

Galadriel shook her head. "You're foolish," she repeated.

"Time will tell. But remember – I told you this in confidence. If you share this with others, I'll see it as betrayal of trust."

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Ealc was a lady of her word, and even though it took her some time, the capital woke one day to find itself surrounded by Silvan elves. They were not armed, at least not visibly so, they were just...there.

And Ealc was demanding to speak with the king.

"We'll no longer accept this," she said plainly.

"We?" Amdír asked dubiously.

"The Silvan, though you should also know that we spoke to the Noldor that live at the edge of the forest and that they gave us their full support."

Galadriel, who was standing a little to the side and listening, thought: Feliel did not disappoint. Though perhaps it was not fair to believe it was only her doing. Most of the Noldor would not be happy with what Ealc told them, even though they might consider the Silvan way of life strange.

"All of the Silvan?" Amdír asked.

"Naturally not," Ealc replied as if the idea was absurd. "I didn't convince everyone, so there are those that simply keep insisting what you do doesn't matter to us, however much you might believe the opposite." She frowned. "It's difficult for many to understand why we should care. It doesn't matter to them, so they think it doesn't matter to you. But most of us are here. You can see we are."

Amdír gave a sigh, and said in a tone he suggested he was doing her a great favour: "What do you want, then?"

"It's really quite simple: if you wish to call yourself the king of the entire realm, not just the Sindar, then do away with the injustice in laws and customs."

Amdír was clearly shocked. Even after what Galadriel had told him, he had not expected to hear this. "You swore fealty to me!" He cried.

"Fealty?" Apparently, that was a term Avorneth did not get around to explaining. Perhaps she had not wished to make Ealc even more angry. Somehow, Galadriel felt that the mere idea of what fealty meant would seem unacceptable to her.

"You accepted me as king," Amdír offered an explanation that was understating things rather strongly.

Ealc shrugged, not seeing the problem. "Yes, under the impression that it meant one thing. It turns out it means something else, so we're here to renegotiate the terms."

"You can't renegotiate the terms of a fealty!" Amdír's dedication to trying to bind the Silvan by concepts they did not recognize astounded Galadriel.

Ealc shrugged again. "Then you're no longer our king." She turned to go, as if that was the matter settled.

Galadriel gave a quiet sigh. This was going nowhere. "If you mind the idea of renegotiation," she said to Amdír, and Ealc stopped to listen to her too, "look at it as if they swore under false auspices. That is what they feel, anyway, from what I understand. You didn't explain properly then – no doubt because you thought that the title of king was easily understandable to everyone, I'm not accusing you of trickery – and now you reap the reward."

Amdír sighed deeply. "So you mean to say the fealty would be void, and they'd have to swear again?"

"The fealty is void, but I wouldn't hold out too much hope for your Silvan subjects swearing anything."

She have a short look to Ealc, who nodded sharply. "No oaths," she said. "Avorneth explained what they mean to you, and we won't accept that."

"Then what's the point?"

"They can respect you as king to a degree – though perhaps not to the degree the Sindar are used to – without swearing an oath," Galadriel explained patiently.

"Well, my own Sindarin subjects hardly respect me that way, so..." Amdír muttered quietly, only for Galadriel to hear. Then he turned to Ealc and said: "Let's say that I'd agree. What exactly would it mean?"

"I already told you. Do away with the injustice in laws and customs."

He frowned. "I understand what you mean by laws, I believe," he said, which made Galadriel furious. That meant he had been well aware that his laws were unjust, and he had still kept them that way. She knew he would claim the pressure of his Sindarin lords, but this was ridiculous.

"But customs?" Amdír asked.

"You can keep your Sindarin city," Ealc replied, "as many of them as you want, in fact, but it won't be the capital. The capital will be open to us all, if you want us to respect you as king. And we'll have places on the council."

"The council is big enough already, I can't..."

Ealc shrugged, like that, too, was of no consequence. "So some of your Sindarin lords will leave it," she said. "There are too many of them anyway, seeing how few Sindar live in this realm."

Amdír opened his mouth, but then closed it again. She was right. If the council was meant to represent all, there was really no reason for so many Sindar there.

The problem, of course, was that the council had never been meant to represent all.

"I'll have to consider this carefully," Amdír said at length. "It's not a decision to be taken lightly."

Ealc thought about it. "Very well," she said, "but I want your word, now and in public, that some changes will happen, if you want us to respect you as king at least until your official stance is announced."

Amdír looked as if he was in enormous pain, but he gave his word.

And so, incredibly enough, changes started to happen.

Some of the Sindar, of course, were muttering about disloyalty and insubordination, but the smarter of them understood it made no sense to apply to the Silvan a concept of loyalty that they never had.

"It goes deeper than that, though," Avorneth pointed out in a discussion with Amroth. "Even if they were Sindar...your father would have failed in his duty to them as king, because he didn't look out for their best interests."

Amroth shook his head at her. "For the Sindar, there's no situation when you can revolt against your king."

Galadriel stared at him. "Forgive me, but you left Lindon, and then you left Oropher. I find it hard to accept that."

"There was no king of the Sindar in Lindon. With Uncle Oropher, it was more complicated, though. Our departure was the result of my father negotiating with him for a very long time. He allowed us to go. We didn't demand it."

Galadriel shook her head, thinking of the Noldorin departure from Aman and then the splintering of their leadership. Had the Sindar been in that situation, she wondered, would they have all stayed in Aman because of their unquestioned loyalty to the Valar, or would they have all gone with Fëanáro, because he was the rightful king?

"It's a good thing, then," Celebrían said, "that the Silvan aren't you, or they'd have never got their justice."

Amroth only sighed. "Let's hope," he said, "that the realm can withstand them getting it."

There were some changes to be made to the laws, but the most visible one was the capital being moved. The Sindarin city would remain in place, but Amdír's house and the seat of his council would be moved to a different location, the place for which was now being decided as the king and his son were scouting the forest, attempting to find a place suitably central and beautiful to live, which was not at the same time yet inhabited by any Silvan group.

"So you will have to move out of the city after all." Galadriel observed to Avorneth with a smile.

"Yes," Avorneth agreed, "but I'll still live in the capital."


	60. Outrage

**Chapter 60: Outrage**

 _Year 2095 of the Second Age, Lindórinand_

Silvan weddings, as it turned out, were a much more straightforward affair than either Noldorin or Sindarin ones.

There were no parents holding hands, and there were no official pronouncements by the king. The two who were getting married simply promised eternal love, loyalty and respect to each other with their friends standing witness. There was no mention of the Valar, but the One was referred to, though not by name.

The first kiss was also accompanied by loud cheers from the crowd, something no Sindarin wedding would ever tolerate.

All in all, it was not surprising Avorneth and Ealc chose to follow the Silvan custom. It was the Silvan who fought for their right to marry and live in the capital, after all. Besides, Avorneth was making a point.

There had been many changes in the realm in the last few decades. The capital moved, and it changed, too. Where there once stood only the low houses of the Doriath folk, there were now just as many flets in the treetops. Some Silvan moved to the city, desirous of making sure the king did not regress to his previous approach to them, and some young Sindar moved to the flets, too, as a mark of their sympathy for the Silvan.

Galadriel and Celeborn made a flet part of their new house. Amroth himself built one above his father's royal house atop the hill they chose as their seat.

There were also three Silvan on Amdír's council now, elected by their people, and one of them was Ealc. Galadriel had feared the council would become too large and inefficient just as Amdír had predicted, but two of his Sindar abandoned their position in protest over this change, so that cleared the matter, and made councils easier to bear. Ealc was definitely pleasanter company.

But still, prejudices lingered, as Galadriel supposed was their nature, and so for a Noldorin lady to have a Silvan wedding had a strong effect. Particularly a granddaughter of the High King. Avorneth took care to look the part, too, in spite of the simplicity of the wedding, wearing all the rich jewellery and elaborate dress one would expect from Noldorin royalty. Macalaurë's wife herself, on their wedding day in Tirion, did not look more noble than Avorneth did on this occassion.

Ealc was dressed in the usual Silvan fashion, her hair loose, the dress beautiful in its simplicity. The contrast was almost jarring to Galadriel, but she did understand the reasons behind it. Once again, Avorneth was making a point.

A point that was rather underlined by Artanáro being present at the wedding, with an entire entourage of richly dressed lords and ladies. It was the first time he had ever visited Lindórinand.

"It is a little unnatural," he observed to Galadriel after they congratulated the couple and stood to the side to allow their friends some space, "to be standing here as one of the guests, instead of officiating the marriage. Even though I suppose it would have been you to put her hand into Ealc' anyway."

"Well, you are her grandfather."

"Yes, but you know her far better, and besides, being a lady, it would have been more traditional."

Galadriel chuckled. "Because Avorneth and I both care about that so much."

"How did they meet, do you know?" Artanáro asked after a short pause.

She smiled. "Oh, yes. It was because of the rings. Ealc brought them to you, do you remember?"

"Of course. That lady is hard to forget," Artanáro said with amusement.

"If she could hear you, she would no doubt say that she was no lady, since that was a silly Noldorin invention and people were not more deserving of respect based on the family they were born into. Or something similar."

Artanáro grinned. "I am rather surprised they did not attempt to remove Amdír completely in their revolt, then."

"Oh, my impression is that most Silvan do not particularly care that he calls himself king. It is not their business, as they would say."

Now the High King seemed confused. "But I thought that was why the whole thing started, that they realized it had to be?"

"Yes, but still. The Silvan – or at least the council members I know – simply refuse the notion that someone could have as much authority as we ascribe to the king. So they keep treating Amdír like an appointed head of the council. It is...amusing, sometimes. The revolt, as you call it, was because they realized what it means to the Sindar. It does not indicate they accepted that meaning."

"I understand that, but is the fact that they have a Sindarin king at all – or any king – still not unacceptable? If they now know that the Sindar see him as ruling over them, over the Silvan?"

"Perhaps they also understand that the Sindar could not function without a king, and they understand the value of keeping the realm together in these times. They have different values, but they are certainly not stupid!"

Celebrían came to stand at their side at this moment, after curtsying to Artanáro. "Did you enjoy the wedding, my lady?" He asked her.

She smiled at him. "It was not done for me to enjoy," she replied, "but yes, it was moving. I am very happy for Avorneth."

"So am I. Do you know her wife well?"

"Relatively. They have been in love for centuries, of course, so I had enough time to get to know her. But we are very different."

That was very true. Celebrían and Ealc were in many ways like night and day. "But surely you have a number of common interests?" Artanáro said, confused again. "I know from your mother than you are a great admirer of the forest..."

Celebrían gave him one of her mildly amused looks. "And you assumed that because Ealc is Silvan, she has to be one too?"

Artanáro blinked, his confusion deepening. "Well...I would expect it, yes."

Celebrían shrugged. "She does not hate it, naturally, but...it is simply the place where she lives. She does not have the...perhaps it is because I grew up in a stone palace, and not in a forest? So I have the sort of appreciation only one who has not been surrounded by a forest their entire life can have?"

"I do not believe that is the difference," Galadriel replied. "Many Sindar from Doriath who lived outside Thousand Caves share your passion with you. You get it from your father, of course. It is a very Sindarin tradition, the love for things that grow."

"I remember your love of forests of Doriath, Aunt," Artanáro pointed out. "Do not pretend it is not your heritage as well."

"Yes," Galadriel admitted, "but then, I get it from my mother – or rather from her people, I should say, since she herself much preferred the Sea, as did most of the Teleri that went West."

"What would you call a Silvan tradition, then? If the Sindarin one is love for nature and the Sea, and ours, I suppose, would be crafting..."

"...and the Vanyarin one is words and stories and songs and lore. Well, I could not possibly speak of all Silvan in Middle-Earth, but from what I know from Lindórinand...I would say games and competitions of various kinds."

"What do you mean exactly?"

"You will see. We should go find Celeborn and Oreth – they are bound to be so wrapped up in their conversation they will miss the feast."

Artanáro smiled. "Do you blame them?"

"No, of course not." Celeborn and Oreth had not seen each other for a very long time, as both were rather unwilling to travel, and there was, after all, quite a long way to go between Lindórinand and Lindon.

The two Noldor fetched their partners and headed to the tables, where Avorneth and Ealc were just beginning to toast each other.

It did not take Artanáro long to realize what Galadriel had meant. "Is that a song competition?" He asked. "At a wedding?"

"There are always competitions," Galadriel replied.

And there were. There was a tug of war, there was a running and throwing and shooting competition, there was an obstacle course, there was a dancing competition.

Artanáro was flabbergasted.

"It is just so...so unusual," he muttered.

"Not everything has to be according to your customs," Ealc, who was just passing by, muttered.

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The discussion about wine imports from Greenwood seemed never-ending to Galadriel, who had some rather important news. But finally the conditions were settled and the council could move on to other things.

"And now to the gravest matter of today," Amdír said, turning to Galadriel.

"The rings," she explained quietly. Immediately, she had the attention of all in the room. "Celebrimbor claimed," she eadded to those present who did not know, "that apart from the lesser rings, which were really more like trinkets and are not for us to concern ourselves with, there were sixteen that are powerful enough to be relevant. Sauron helped with creating them, and he took them after he conquered Hollin. For the longest time, we had no idea where they were, but now..." She paused. "It appears that at least some of them were given to dwarves."

As she had expected, there was considerable outrage at this, and much talk about 'always knowing they could not be trusted'. After it quieted down, Ealc wondered: "How do you know?"

"King Lómi told me," she answered simply. "His grandfather was given the ring by Celebrimbor himself. That, I've known for some time." The murmur started again, about her keeping secrets. She ignored it. "However, Nordri, the head of the line of Nogrod...well, he felt jealous of the king, and so when later, Gorthaur's envoys came with the offer, he accepted one for himself and one for his friend, the head of Belegost's line. Lómi's father knew, and did not wish to speak of it, knowing too well what my reaction would have been. But I did grow suspicious of their long ages, and when their sons appeared to live equally long, I insisted on having an answer, and at length, he gave it to me. Once I knew this...it isn't easy to find information about dwarves, of course, but I did what I could and I believe that given some other news we've had, it's reasonable to I suspect the dwarven kings in the East have received rings as well."

"Dwarven kings in the East?" Rýnor asked.

Galadriel sighed. "There are seven dwarven clans in total. Three now live in Hadhodrond, after the destruction of Nogrod and Belegost. The remaining four live east of Greenwood."

The envoy from that realm nodded. "We know about them, though we aren't in contact with them."

Of course thy were not. There was no one less likely to have any contact with dwarves than Oropher.

"What other news do you base this on?" Amroth wanted to know.

"The mentions of dragons sighted in the East were discussed in this council. From what little King Lómi was willing to tell me, the rings help strongly in amassing treasure – it gives him a sense of where to find precious metals, and no one can refuse him when he is bargaining with it on his hand. He himself became much richer since he's had it. And we all know what attracts dragons..."

"Does that mean a dragon is likely to attack Hadhodrond in the near future?" Amdír asked, alarmed.

"I don't believe so," Galadriel replied. "It's deeper than other dwarven realms, and better protected. Protected by our work. The dragons won't sense the gold there, I believe."

"You believe!" The Greenwood envoy exploded. "How close are you to Hadhodrond, and how close are we to the Red Mountains! If the dragons came, we'd be destroyed, and all a fault of the naugrim! It's treason to speak to them, treason!"

Galadriel sighed. They had had a long conversation with Amdír about discussing the subject in a council with a Greenwood envoy present, but in the end, the need for the eastern Elves to know was bigger than any discomfort they might experience. That did not mean Galadriel was not irritated, especially as the distance between Greenwood and the Red Mountains was actually quite great. "Treason to whom?" She asked. "I can't commit treason to your king, as surely you know; and neither Amdír nor Gil-Galad consider it such. And allow me to remind you that if I hadn't been friendly to them, we wouldn't have discovered this at all." She paused. "Apart from the risk of dragons, it doesn't appear to be directly dangerous at the moment," she admitted unwillingly. "Gorthaur hasn't managed to bend the old king to his will in all the time he wore the ring, nor has King Lómi been broken. Dwarves aren't easily shaped to what others wish to have of them. I believe Gorthaur miscalculated in this. However...there are the nine remaining rings."

"Men?" Amdír asked.

"I fear so," Galadriel replied. "Elves wouldn't listen to him again, not even the Noldor, and he has no need to give it to some of his dark races – they're already his. But Men...I worry about Númenor. There's been some worrying news recently from that realm, and if they turned to darkness, they'd be a terrible foe to contend with."

Some of the Sindar present hesitated to believe that a realm of Men could be a danger to them, but Galadriel did not waste her time by trying to convince them. "I'll rush to Rivendell to inform Elrond," she said instead. "Think carefully on what's been said, and if you hear a word that might indicate the location of the other rings, I entreat you to share it." And hopefully Oropher would not be foolish enough to try and claim any of them for his own.

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Elrond listened to her news with a pronounced frown. "I must go to Númenórë," he said immediately when she finished, "and try to find out what I can."

"You have not noticed anything particular the last time you were there?"

"The kingdom is deteriorating further. Not in its might, but in its wisdom. The king, too, seems to be further and further from wisdom ever since he actually became king."

Galadriel frowned. "That might be precisely what it would look like if a ring or more was there. We do not know if the effect would be the same for Men as it is for dwarves, we do not even know if they have the same sort of rings. And the rings cannot be seen unless you concentrate. I could only see Lómi's ring since I knew about it, and I could see the one on the finger of the head of the Belegost line as well once I knew what I was looking for. Before, I could not. You will be looking for it, so you might be able to see it, but there is no guarantee."

"I will do what I can." He paused to think. "Could you possibly stay in Rivendell during my absence? It might be longer than usual this time."

"Perhaps not the entire time, but I will do my best to stay longer. Do you not trust Lalvon?"

"He is a good councillor, but he is not quite confident enough to run things on his own."

Or was it that Elrond did not have enough confidence in him? But she did not wish to bring that topic up again. "What about Lord Laurefindil?" She asked instead.

"He has no trouble with confidence, certainly, and I trust him with my life," he replied, "but perhaps less so with running my realm."

Galadriel laughed. "It is true," she admitted, "that ruling is not in his nature. But if you leave detailed enough instructions, he will do fine, and I will be close at hand enough to help if there is any uncertainty."

"There is likely to be less here than in Númenórë," Elrond muttered. "I was last there for Atanamir receiving the Sceptre, and it was not a pleasant experience. I will not be received warmly, if I will be received at all. But I have to try. Silmariën's descendants will see me, at any rate, but they would not be the ones to have the ring."

Galadriel pressed his hand in sympathy, well aware how it hurt him to watch his brother's children turn away from the light. "At least you will see Artanáro," she said. The king could not afford to come to Rivendell more often than every two decades or so.

"Yes, and I will give him your message. His people still go to Númenórë frequently, mainly for the sake of Silmariën's line now. They are there more often than I am. They might notice something, might already have noticed. I will ask them in detail before setting sail."

Galadriel nodded and pressed his hand again. "Have strength," she said.

Elrond departed in a few days, and Galadriel settled into making sure everything in his home was in order. She would stay four or five months, she decided, and then she would go back. It appeared Sauron was getting back on his feet, and she did not wish to leave the kingdom she now owed allegiance to alone for too long, not even if it meant Lord Laurefindil had to run Rivendell for a while.

"I hear," she told him after dinner one evening, "that Elrond does not quite trust you with his realm."

He laughed. "I would not trust myself either," he said. "I need Erestor for this kind of thing. I hope Lord Elrond will bring him back with him when he returns."

"How long since you have last seen him?"

Lord Laurefindil sighed. "A year. If I did not have enough reason to hate Sauron already, this would certainly ensure it."

"What are your estimates for this war, then? What do you believe we should do next, and what will Sauron do?"

The look he gave her was amused. "Surely you know these things better than I."

"Perhaps in some ways." She looked into her Mirror with regularity, but it did not give her many answers. "In military strategy, you are my superior."

"Yes, but then this is not truly military strategy, as the case of your realm plainly showed. It is more than that." He paused, and at her expectant look, added: "I cannot make any guesses when it comes to these matters, but as far as purely military strategy goes...if our information is correct, he will be strong enough to attack again in a few centuries, unless we do something, hinder him in some way."

"Well, the last time we tried that, Hollin paid the highest price. What if he has another plan like that ready for us?"

"We were too open last time. We need more secrecy, more caution in our preparations. He must not find out."

" _Can_ he not find out, though?" Galadriel asked. "It is only logical, after all. He knows we know he is still there, and active as ever. He must know we would be preparing for war."

Lord Laurefindil considered this problem. "Then we will need a ruse, to make him believe something else is going on. Make him believe we are too broken by our losses to do anything. He fears you and Artanáro, my lady, and you both suffered heavily by his attack on Hollin. Let him believe that instead of being motivated for justice and vengeance, you are broken beyond repair and do not pose any more danger to him."

Galadriel thought about his suggestion. "Yes," she said. "This might actually work. I hope it is not too late to implement this plan...but yes, Sauron just might be vain enough to believe it."

Especially, she realized, as she did not renew Hollin. Her reasons would not be comprehensible to him, so lot him believe it was because her spirit was broken instead.

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She stopped to visit King Lómi on her way back to Lindórinand again. However, her reception was much less warm this time. "You told them about the rings!" Lómi said furiously, waving a letter at her. She could imagine where it came from.

"Of course I did," she replied sharply. "What did you expect? As long as it was only your ring, given to you by Celebrimbor, it was one thing. I could respect your wish to keep it secret. But your subjects, by their choice, accepted gifts from Gorthaur and made Hadhodrond a potential danger to all Middle-Earth. They also provided us with a clue to what Gorthaur is doing with the rings. I can't keep such information to myself."

"Did you truly expect them to refuse? They're shamed and humbled by the loss of their kingdoms. They saw this as a chance to reclaim some of their glory. You can hardly ask me to cast them out because of that. Besides, this was the safest option. We're mightiest of all dwarven kingdoms, and if the rings didn't go to us, they'd go somewhere else, somewhere where there¨d be more risk."

"You should also aim to be the wisest," Galadriel retorted. "Especially as you dwell next to Hollin and you knew of my troubles with Gorthaur while I was still its queen. I don't blame you for not casting your kin out, but why didn't you tell me immediately, why didn't you make it known? You had all the information you needed to understand why the rings were dangerous."

"And we used them. We gave Gorthaur nothing in return, and we use his gift for our own good. We pose no danger."

"And if dragons come upon you?" She could not help asking.

"If all dragons of Morgoth came, they wouldn't have strength enough to defeat Khazad-dûm."

Galadriel's rage flared. "Speak not of what you don't know!" She said sharply. "I've seen all of the Enemy's dragons come, and an army of Maiar was needed to bring them down. Ancalagon the Black was so great that he could make the brightest day seem like darkness, and when he fell, he broke the towers of Thangorodrim. If all of Morgoth's dragons came, all of the free peoples of Middle-Earth would perish. Only the smallest dragons are left here, and they would be enough to destroy your kingdom, once it was noticed. Secrecy is your best hope now."

The king looked away. "Forgive me, lady," he said at length. "Sometimes I...forget. I know you were here when I was born and your age remains almost unchanged, but it's still difficult to keep in mind how much lives in your memory, and that you remember the age before this one."

Galadriel gave him a slightly amused look. "I remember the age before the Sun rose for the first time, and Lady Arien was still walking in Aman, her eyes almost too bright to bear."

"As yours are, sometimes," he returned, not looking at her.

"Then you could, in truth, not have borne Lady Arien, for I am nothing but a pale shadow of even the form she took while still in Valinor."

The king chuckled unexpectedly. "If there's one phrase I'd never use to describe you, it'd be 'pale shadow'. I've never met another who burns so bright."

Ages ago, Galadriel would have seen this as praise, but for many centuries now she thought of Fëanáro at such words and trembled instead.

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While finding out where the rings of power were was a priority, it was not the only work that needed to be done to keep the peoples of Middle-Earth free from their influence. To that end, Galadriel reluctantly went to Avorneth with a task.

Reluctantly, that was, because it was barely a year after her wedding, and Galadriel wished she could give her more time to simply enjoy Ealc's company. But war was war.

"Yes, of course I will help you, Aunt," Avorneth said. "Gladly. But I am not certain if...it is what I always tell you. All I can give you are theories."

"You said the same thing when you discovered how to make the Mirror, and it works perfectly – too perfectly, I sometimes think." Some of the dark images it showed her reappeared frequently in her nightmares.

"Only after Túron made countless small adjustments that I could not have predicted in my rough draft," Avorneth pointed out. "And that is what I am saying. My theories are often wrong in small but important ways. That does not matter when they can be tested and adjusted later, by those who are capable of doing so, but we do not have any rings to test this on, do we?"

Galadriel hesitated for a moment. "Perhaps Túron or others would still manage to find some way to test it," she said then. "Will you walk with me to the Noldorin city?"

Avorneth gave her a long look, then nodded sharply and they set out.

"So," she said when they were outside the capital, "what is it that you did not wish to say in front of Ealc?"

"I apologize," Galadriel replied. "But this is something only Celeborn, Elrond and your grandfather know." She paused. "I have one of the rings."

Avorneth stared at her. "One of Sauron's rings of power?"

Galadriel was darkly amused of this echo of her conversation with King Lómi a century ago. "No," she said. "A ring like the ones Ealc carried to Lindon."

"Oh. My father left one of them with you," Avorneth realized. "I should have known."

"Would that be enough to experiment on?" Galadriel asked.

Avorneth pondered the matter. "I am not certain. I will have to think about it, and consult with Túron and others."

"It is also crucial that Sauron does not realize experiments are being done," Galadriel added. "He does not know about these rings."

Avorneth nodded. "I am aware. I will do my best."

"If it is impossible," the older elf continued, "then perhaps we could try to convince King Lómi to let you work with his ring. It would take some work, though."

"I hope he would give me some courtesy in my father's honour," Avorneth replied. Perhaps she was right. King Lómi liked Galadriel – or had, before she let the Sindar know about his ring – but the respect afforded Tyelperinquar's memory in Khazad-dûm was unmatched by any other elf.

"I will likely need more people than Túron," Avorneth continued. "Good, skilled craftsmen I can trust. I do not know those from Hollin as well as I should. When I still lived there, I was not interested enough, and now I only go to the Noldorin city rarely."

"We will ask Feliel and Túron for help, then."

Feliel welcomed them cheerfully, as was her wont.

"Two such esteemed visitors in one day," she said, "what did I do to deserve the honour? How is married life, my lady?" She added, turning to Avorneth. "Allow me to congratulate you again."

"Thank you. I am exceedingly happy."

"Who would not be, with such a charming and witty wife?" Feliel remarked, smirking.

"Might I point out that she is _my_ wife," Avorneth said, her face serious – but there was mirth dancing in her eyes.

"Finders, keepers, I suppose," Feliel said with a laugh. Then, she finally grew serious. "I assume there was something you needed in truth?"

"We are here to consult your craftsmen, actually," Galadriel explained. "We will need recommendations for such that are both skilled and trustworthy."

"Let me call Túron, then, and we will consult. We are all at your disposal, my lady, whatever you need."

And this, this ability to be completely in earnest in spite of cheerfully joking just moments before, was the reason why Feliel was the perfect ruler of this Noldorin town, and why Galadriel would always trust her with it fully. Especially with Aseanettë by her side.

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AN: Poor Lómi had a glimpse of Galadriel's power there. It shakes a guy.

Also, there's an aesthetic to Evorneth and Elc's wedding in my "the nolde"/"the nolde verse" tag on my tumblr. I am absolutely terrible with photoshop, so it looks accordingly, but my girls were getting married. I could not not celebrate.


	61. Answers

**Chapter 61: Answers**

 _Year 2251 of the Second Age, Lindórinand_

The question of where the remaining nine rings were was answered when the Ringwraiths appeared.

It was only rumours at first, rumours about terrible riders that sowed despair. Lindórinand heard them from Greenwood envoys and from Númenorean colonists first, mentioned only as a curiosity by the second. The elves took it somewhat more seriously, better acquainted with the kind of danger Sauron could present. Even in Greenwood, there were still some who remember Tol-in-Gaurhoth and the monsters that lurked there.

When the rumours persisted, and were only growing more frequent and alarming, Galadriel consulted the matter with Feliel and the lady set out to the lands closer to Mordor. She heard the same stories directly, then, from the Men who lived by the Great River. People whispered about the terrifying wraiths fearfully in the dark, warning each other from travelling alone, from going too far south or too far east. There, they said, the danger lurked.

Galadriel was worried, and brought this matter before Amdír's council.

"It's a matter of the south and east," Ealc pointed out. "It doesn't concern us, so why should we be concerned with it?"

"Because I fear every evil to be related to Gorthaur, and if it is, it'll concern us very soon."

"You don't know it actually has anything to do with him, though," Amroth opposed. "It might just be a folk story."

"Every story we hear connects them to Mordor," Galadriel reminded him.

"And why would it appear so suddenly, then?" Celeborn added. "We've never heard of this folk story before, and suddenly everyone is speaking of it. No. The magical man in Hollin wasn't a folk story, and this won't be one either."

"What do you want to do, then?" Amdír asked.

"It's true that we need to know more," Galadriel agreed. "Someone has to go and find them, investigate them directly."

"Will you go?"

Galadriel wanted to, but her promise to Findekáno kept her back, as always. They were unlikely to be able to hurt her, but still, it was not necessary that she went in person, and so she chose not to. And as per their war plan, she was supposed to be pretending to be too paralysed by grief to do anything against Sauron. "Better someone else," she said, "at least for the first attempt. If they prove too dangerous to approach to find out anything, I'll consider going."

"Rýnor?" Amdír turned to his commander after a small hesitation.

"Yes, of course, my king. I'll take a small contingent, if I may?"

"Naturally, but only a small one – we don't want you to be too conspicuous."

So Rýnor went with a few other elves, dressed in plain clothes and pretending to be on no official business at all.

The message they brought back was frightening. "They are wraiths," he said, clearly still a little shaken. "There is...nothing under their hoods, nothing to be seen, only darkness. We had to ride with all of our speed to escape them. They are powerful, and their shrieks...they are do terrible. They can chill your blood to the bone."

The council shuddered as one. "What do we do, then?" Amroth asked.

That, of course, was the question. The news, while alarming, did not truly answer the question of what these creatures were, where Sauron found them, and how to fight them. And if they had such a strong effect even on elves, then it was almost certain that they would have to fight them, sooner or later. Once Sauron was done testing their powers on Men livign close to Mordor, he would no doubt employ them in war.

At first, Galadriel thought she would have to go in person after all, to try and discover this, and discover whether she could defeat them – whether they could be destroyed at all - but then she realized that with the news Rýnor brought, it might be enough to ask her Mirror.

And so instead of travelling East, she went to the fountain that night and looked.

It took a moment for the image to settle. Then she saw nine Men standing, tall and proud – their faces too shadowed to recognize who they were. But she saw what happened next clearly. Sauron in the form of Annatár, fair and charming, offering a ring as a sign of friendship – one ring, for each of these powerful Men, and them accepting and putting the rings on their fingers. She saw their might afterwards, and then she saw their long fall into darkness.

Celeborn stood by her side, and he reached to steady her as she emerged from the vision. It took her a moment to be able to speak. "The remaining nine rings were for Men," she said finally, her eyes closed, "and they are all Sauron's now. They are the wraiths."

"How?" He asked, fear in his voice.

"I don't know," she replied, tired. "The mirror didn't tell me that. But it seems that just as the dwarves were impossible to bend to his will, Men are easy."

"Will this happen to the dwarves in time, then? We should warn them!"

Galadriel smiled a little in spite of herself at this unexpected consideration offered to dwarves from Celeborn. "I will," she assured him, "but in truth, I don't fear for them. They're hardy, and they simply don't live long enough for the rings to corrupt them. King Lómi was right. They only wear the rings once they assume the throne, a century or a little longer, usually. If they had our life, then perhaps, perhaps they would succumb in time, but as it is..."

"And if an elf ever found one of these rings? Not one like you have, but one of those which were touched by Gorthaur's hand?"

"I don't know," Galadriel admitted. "We might ask Avorneth, but I'm not sure...she knows more about how the rings work than about how they affect those who bear them. But perhaps with her knowledge, we might theorize." She shook her head. "I will pray that none of the elves ever does. If Oropher used one, it could become terrible."

"Here, at least, his dislike of the Noldor will serve him well," Celeborn replied. "I don't believe he'd accept a ring made by one of you."

"You may well be right," she agreed, "especially by Celebrimbor."

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Neither Celebrían nor Avorneth were particularly fond of travel, but for Avorneth, there were things that could motivate her to leave her comfortable home, and quest for knowledge was one of those things. "There are some matters I have trouble understanding about the rings," she said, "and there is no one here who can help me."

"Not even Túron?"

"No. He is a great craftsman, of course, but he doest not truly understand the principles, not the way I need. Very few did, beside...Father." She swallowed. "Anyway, I suspect some of the Jewel-Smiths who managed to escape to Rivendell could help me. Next time you go, I will accompany you." Galadriel was surprised by that, and even more so when Avorneth added: "I will take Celebrían with me."

Galadriel raised her eyebrows. "Does she know?" Celebrían had been finding excuses to avoid that journey for a few centuries now.

Avorneth laughed. "Not yet, but I want a companion for the journey – you will have important war matters to attend to – and Ealc absolutely refuses to go."

That surprised Galadriel. "I did not think she minded travel so much? She did carry the rings to Artanáro those centuries ago, after all."

Avorneth shrugged. "Yes, but that was a relatively short time away, and it was before she sat on the council. Now she claims she cannot leave for this long just do be my escort. When I pointed out that you were on the council as well and it did not prevent you from being frequently in Rivendell for long periods of time, she only smirked and said that was all the more reason for her not to be absent at the same time."

"Well, I am flattered."

Avorneth laughed. "Do not be. I suspect she just does not like being outside the forest for too long, and looks for excuses."

However she did it, Avorneth truly managed to convince Celebrían to journey with them, so now, they were riding into Rivendell with a small army accompanying them. Celebron had insisted on a proper escort. Celebrían was looking around herself with admiration – and, Galadriel could see, in regretful memory as well, for Rivendell was reminiscent of Hollin in some ways, with the mountains towering over it. Galadriel's own pain was soothed, as always, by the joyful expectation of seeing Elrond again. They arrived to the entrance of his house and he was already waiting for them, courteous in the face of ladies he did not know.

Galadriel dismounted and embraced him, and then turned to her daughter and said: "Beloved, allow me to introduce my daughter, Celebrían, and her friend, Avorneth, daughter of Tyelperinquar and Sarnel. And ladies, allow me to introduce Elrond, son of Eärendil and Elwing, and lord of Rivendell."

Elrond bowed very deep and both nisi mimicked his gesture. "It is a pleasure, my ladies," he said. "If you will follow me inside, there are rooms prepared for you to be refreshed and then there is a feast waiting in your honour."

Galadriel was a little amused by all the formality went to when he found out she would not be coming alone, as usual, but instead with her daughter and Avorneth, and a full entourage. She supposed it did rather give the impression of an official visit, even though the only reason behind it was Celeborn being worried about the safety of his daughter.

She had hoped she would be able to speak to Elrond before the feast, but he was nowhere to be found and at the meal, he very gallantly entertained Celebrían and Avorneth. Galadriel did not mind, since the kind of conversation she wished for could not be held in a feast hall and Lord Laurefindil was sitting by her side, a company that was always pleasant.

"So how are you doing, military-wise, now that the war preparations have started again?" She asked.

"We always do well military-wise, my lady, for our size. We are a military outpost. But at the same time, we obviously cannot field a large army-"

"Of course. That is not what I meant," she stopped him. "I can hear all of that in a council. I meant your personal impressions."

He shrugged as he took a sip of his wine. "Well, it is easier than in Lindon, in many ways. No one doubts that the danger is real now, and it gives the soldiers more motivation and determination. And all that are here have seen battle, too. That is an experience that cannot be shared, cannot be described, and it transforms an elf. They still cannot quite match those I commanded in Ondolindë, of course, but...I am reasonably happy with them."

"And with the life in Rivendell in general?" She enquired. "You have been here for a few centuries now, but you called it a military outpost. That does not suggest exactly contentment."

He smiled. "You forget I am a commander, my lady. No, besides Erestor's absence, I cannot complain. It took some time to transform this desperate refuge into a home, of course, but it is done now, and I have friends here."

"You had friends in Lindon too, I hope." Even though it was true he had always been surprisingly solitary there, with hardly any ties beside his husband, Artanáro and Elrond.

"Naturally, but...well, it comes down to having fought together in the war, again. It creates a particular kind of bond, a bond I was used to sharing with those around me and that I missed in Lindon. Of course, peace is worth much more than such bonds, but then, we did not have true peace, not after the first few hundred years at least. I was preparing for war, but I did not have warriors tempered by the fire of battle around me to rely on. Now I do. It changes much for me."

"You are more bloodthirsty than you seem, Lord Laurefindil."

She smiled as she said that, but he stayed serious. "I would prefer Middle-Earth to live in the bliss of Aman," he said, "but then, we are unlikely to ever live that dream, are we not?"

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After the feast, Galadriel found Elrond in his study. She entered, smiled, sat down opposite to him, looked into his eyes – and realized that his mind was closed.

Her astonishment was greater than when she had discovered the identity of Annatár.

Never, in the long years they knew each other, had his mind been closed to her before.

"Beloved," she said, "what is wrong?"

He only looked at her, and she could not bear to see his eyes, his, of all she knew, closed off. "Please," she said, pain colouring her voice, "please tell me."

He looked away. "I am sorry..."

"Elrond, please! Talk to me," she begged, not understanding what was happening but only thinking that something must be very, deeply wrong.

Hearing the fear in her voice, he finally turned his head back and looked at her in despair, and in his mind, she saw the image of Celebrían.

Her astonishment, if possible, even grew.

"But beloved," she said, understanding what it meant and yet not understanding at all, "if you love my daughter, then..." She waited a moment, for him to deny it, even though she knew it was the truth, just because it made no sense to her at all. He said nothing, however, so she continued: "That is the best news you could have given me! You must know that! Surely you must know that there is no one I would be happier to see her with! She is my daughter, and you are like my son." The despair did not recede from his mind, however, and so she asked uncomprehendingly: "Why are you not joyful?"

He shook his head and said in a tired voice: "Because, as you said, she is your daughter, Aunt. You are the most beautiful, powerful and wise nis in all of Middle-Earth – and for what I know, perhaps even beyond the Sea. How could I possibly be worthy of your daughter?"

Galadriel stared at him, feeling as if he was speaking some foreign language wholly unknown to her. "Elrond, beloved..." She said slowly. "When have I ever made you feel you were not worthy?"

"Never," he admitted, and then scoffed, "but it is one thing to take me in as a desperate orphan and another to give me your daughter in marriage."

Galadriel understood what was happening less and less. "Do you truly believe that?" She demanded. "That I have only been a friend to you all those centuries because you have been left without parents in New Havens? Your mother was my friend and almost a daughter, beloved, and I was friendly to your father too. Your grandmother was my dearest friend, and many others of your kin were near and precious to me. You have always been part of my family, since you were born, and even more so after your mother left this shore. I love you, Elrond, like my own son. I already told you there was no one better I can imagine my daughter marrying."

He seemed moved by her speech, and there as a short silence when she saw tears glisten in his eyes, but then he wiped them away and shook his head again. "Will Celeborn agree?" he asked. "When he knows – few better, for he watched it from close distance many times over – what it would cost his daughter? That she would see her children grow up so quickly she would hardly remember their childhood, and would forever be faced with the danger of them choosing the mortal fate? Would you make her live that fate, the fate that I knew you pitied your friend, my great-grandmother, for?"

This, then, was the root of Elrond's fear. Galadriel gave him a sad look. "My husband loves you well," she said, "though I admit you are not a son to him. Yes, he adores and protects his daughter, but he would not wish her to be alone forever, and if she feels the Flame for you, he will not stand in her way. As for me, I said this to your brother when he chose Adanel, and I will say it to you now: my heart bled for Lúthien, but I never tried to stand in the way of her happiness."

"And what if Celebrían does not feel the Flame?"

"If it is true, she will. And why should she not? Why do you seem to believe that she could not love you?"

He laughed bitterly. "Can you not see it? She is so full of light, and I…"

Galadriel smiled a little in her mind. Elrond was freshly in love and did not truly know Celebrían. He only saw the best of her, not how sharp she was and how deeply she could sometimes cut, when she chose to. Galadriel would not try to change his opinion. He would find out himself in time, and if the flame was true, it would make him love her more, not less. Instead, she said: "You grew up in darker times, yes. Perhaps that is why the One made you burn with the flame for her, so that she can be your light."

"And what will I be to her, her darkness?" He asked, full of self-mockery.

"You are hardly dark, beloved," Galadriel told him chidingly. "You are the most powerful healer I know, and you could not be if you were dark. Yes, dark experiences shaped you, but it helped you gain wisdom beyond your years, and that wisdom is what you will give to her, for she does not quite have it – cannot have it, as Celeborn has always sheltered her as much as he could. Celebrían can see directly into people's hearts sometimes, but she does not have intimate understanding of what kinds of turmoil are behind the thoughts and beliefs people hold. In that, you can help her grow."

He sighed. It did not seem he believed her, and at length, he only said: "Do not tell her, please."

"I will not, I would not take it from you, but...you know that as long as your mind is closed, she cannot clearly see if the Flame burns in her."

"Yes, I do know. I still ask you to give me time. And...Artanáro will arrive in a fortnight, for the council. Do not tell him either."

Galadriel gave him a sad look. "Elrond, you cannot close your mind to him and hope he will not notice."

"Then I will tell him myself, like I told you. Please."

"Very well, but I truly wish you were not so despairing over something that should be joyous."

He only looked away, into the fire.

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Galadriel kept her promise, but she could not stop herself from asking Celebrían what she thought of the Lord of Rivendell. She was too full of joy at the idea of the match to wholly restrain herself. If Celebrían loved Elrond back...she had told Elrond the truth, she could not imagine a more perfect future for her daughter. Or for her nephew, who had been alone too long. She might not understand Celebrían very well, but he would, she felt certain of it.

"I like him," her daughter replied calmly. "He is kind and wise, and knows much. Of course, I knew he would, from what you have told me about him. It is very strange, to know someone so well from stories and then meet them in person."

"Is he like you imagined?"

"More mysterious, I would say. I have heard stories from you about his childhood, so there never seemed anything mysterious about him at all, but now...I never quite know what he is thinking."

Galadriel sighed. Yes, that was the problem. "It is interesting to hear you say so," she said aloud. "Surely you understand that for me, he is very different."

"Yes, of course. He does not shield his mind from you, for one."

Galadriel gave her a sharp look, but Celebrían shook her head and smiled. "I do not hold it against him. How could I? He is a ruler, and even though I am your daughter, he has only just met me. He cannot afford to trust that easily. You know it took hundreds of years until Amdír was willing to stay unshielded in my presence as well."

Because Amdír was still mistrustful. He never completely healed from Doriath, even though he was doing much better than Oropher. Galadriel did not wish for Celebrían to believe this was normal behaviour in one's kin, and yet what could she say? "Elrond is being cautious, rather unnecessarily so, as I have told him."

"You tried to convince him to open himself to me? You did not have to do that, mother."

"I know I did not, but I raised him. I still do not like it when he acts foolish, not even millennia later."

Celebrían frowned at her. "Mother..."

"What is it, beloved?"

"I wish you would not...well, you would not interfere. It makes me uncomfortable in Lord Elrond's presence, the knowledge that you did."

Galadriel sighed. Once again, one of the many occasions when she and her daughter did not really understand each other. "As you wish," she said aloud. "I will of course respect what you say in this." _Even if you are both fools._

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Artanáro arrived as announced, and after embracing both Elrond and Galadriel tightly, he looked at Celebrían and smiled.

Her face showed pure astonishment, and Galadriel knew well why it was. The High King's mind was open to her.

She gave Elrond a meaningful look, but he avoided her eyes. _Children_.

When Artanáro came to be alone with Galadriel, he immediately asked: "Do you know what it is that Elrond wants to keep secret?"

"Yes, but I promised not to tell you."

He frowned. "Is it serious?"

"He believes it is very grave indeed. I believe he is being a fool and ruining his own life in the process, but he will not listen to me."

Artanáro chuckled. "You made him tell you, did you not?"

"Yes. Do you believe I should not have?"

"Well, I do not blame you – I was worried as well, and would have been much more so had you not known the answer. But it might have felt...unpleasant, to him, to have his privacy breached."

Galadriel thought back to the time when she kept her own love for Celeborn from Itarillë. She also thought of Ealc, and her opinion on thought-sharing. "You are right," she conceded, "but I was just...well, as you said. Worried."

"You also cannot stand it when someone keeps something from you," Artanáro replied with a laugh, a laugh she did not share. Had she hurt Elrond by insisting?

She went to his rooms again that night. He looked up from his book at her arrival and smiled, warming her heart.

"Beloved," she said, "I have come to apologize."

"For what?" He seemed confused.

"For insisting you tell me what is on your mind. You have, naturally, the right for privacy."

He shook his head and put the book away. "I should have known you would be worried, and you were fully within your rights to be so. I should have simply explained, even in general terms, instead of being so secretive."

She inclined her head, accepting that compromise on blame, then said: "There are ways to keep things from people even when your mind is open, ways to hide them in the crevices of your mind. I shall teach you if you want."

"I know this – Artanáro taught me a long time ago – but...well. It is one thing to hide what I feel from just anyone, and to hide it from you. Especially as...I was overcome with what I felt for your daughter, the moment I saw her. Had I not closed my mind, it would have been very apparent to all."

"Then it is perhaps a good time you did – these sudden realizations can be a little embarrassing. Ask Artanáro and Oreth. That is no reason, however, to keep hiding this." At his look, she shook her head. "Never mind. I spoke with Artanáro. I explained to him it was a private matter, and I believe he will not ask you about it."

"Thank you, Aunt. You see? Already it is proving to be a good thing that you know."

"Remember, it is always a good thing that I know, whatever matter we are speaking of."

They both laughed together.

The next day, it was finally time for a private meeting with both Elrond and Artanáro, and Galadriel could share the grave matter on her mind.

"I know," she said, "where the nine rings are."

Both Noldorin lords listened in astonishment to what she told them. At the end of her story, Elrond was rather pale. "And you say that you did not see their faces?"

"No. I suspect I would need a little more information to have visions reveal that – or some particular intention of the powers that send those visions, of course."

"It is only that...there wraiths appeared recently, you say?"

"Yes, in the last few years," Galadriel confirmed.

Elrond took a deep breath and said: "Atanamir died three decades ago."

Galadriel immediately saw what he meant, and she paled as well. "Have you seen the body?" She asked immediately.

"No. I live too far now to be able to come to funerals of Númenorean kings. When I arrived for the passing of the Sceptre, he was already in his tomb."

"We need to know. If one of Elros' line came to be a servant of Sauron...he would be very dangerous indeed."

"I will speak to the Lord of Andúnië. Perhaps he saw the body – perhaps he will know something."

"Do you think it is likely it is him?" Artanáro asked. "He was a king, after all. It would be difficult to mask that he was...turning into a wraith, it seems you said?"

"We do not know how the process work, how visible it is from the outside," Galadriel pointed out. "They are in the shadows now, all of the ringwraiths, but perhaps until the very last moment, nothing can be seen from outside. Men cannot see each other's minds, and the Rings are invisible to those who do not know about them. Perhaps there was nothing to notice, until it was too late?"

"They would have known by the time of his supposed death, at least," Elrond said. "It would have taken much work to keep a thing like that secret. The king's heir would certainly know, but he will not speak to me. Nevertheless, I will have to go to Númenórë again."

Galadriel nodded, praying all the time that their fear was unfounded. She might not be as attached to the line of Númenórë as Elrond was, but the thought of Elros' descendant turning into such a dreadful creature still gave her immense pain.


	62. Memories

**Chapter 62: Memories**

 _Yeah 2400 of the Second Age, Lindórinand_

„More and more people are speaking about leaving," Feliel told Galadriel when the Nolde visited her city, clearly frustrated.

„Because of the war?" Galadriel assured herself.

"Yes."

It was not surprising. The steady stream of passages West had started when Sauron reappeared, grew strongly after the disaster of Hollin, and now was even more pronounced as the war loomed close again. "And I suppose telling them that if only they stay long enough to fight in it they might see Aman soon anyway would not help?" Galadriel asked jokingly.

Feliel chuckled. "I fear not, my lady. Most seem to wish to avoid a stay in Mandos."

"I wonder why. It seems to have done Lord Laurefindil good." But then Galadriel grew serious. "We cannot force them, of course," she said, "but if you could appeal to their loyalty to this kingdom and Middle-Earth, it would be appreciated."

"Well, I can try, but...I have been trying for a century now, and it seems to have no effect. I need your help, my lady. I am not doing a particularly good job at ruling this settlement."

Galadriel raised her eyebrows. "I beg to differ. It has been running very smoothly."

"By which you mean half of its inhabitants want to leave it?" Feliel asked self-deprecatingly.

"That is because of Sauron, not because of you," Galadriel pointed out. "It has nothing to do with your governing abilities."

"Yet I dare say that if you ruled them directly, they would be less desirous of going." She shook her head, and before Galadriel could say anything in response, added: "Forgive me, my lady, I should not burden you with this."

"No, I am ready to listen," Galadriel assured her. "You take care of my people for me, it is the least I can do. But I do not believe you are right. Do you not remember how many from Hollin chose to sail instead of following me here? Including, might I remind you, Tindómiel, who was my personal friend and kin?" It still hurt. Galadriel knew it had been her and Quendingoldo's right, and that they had been ready to go, but it still hurt.

"I do remember," Feliel replied, "but I also remember how many followed you here, in spite of it being a Sindarin realm in a forest, something entirely foreign to them. Your presence, and that of your family, was the only reason any Noldo had to come here, and thousands of them did."

Galadriel scoffed. "I was their queen. Do you know how many Noldor followed my uncle Fëanáro out of Valinor? Almost all. They abandoned the land of bliss to go into uncertainty, because they followed their king."

"I was not born yet, of course," Feliel replied, "but from what Uncle Guilin told me...did Feanáro not bend the people to his will in the darkness of Aman?"

Galadriel sighed. "Yes. Your Uncle spoke the truth. But still. After the Valar urged us to come back, there were no longer any spells on them, and most still followed my uncle, over the horrors of the Ice, or Fëanáro on the ships."

"But, well, it was guilt in part then, was it not? Shame?"

Galadriel mutely nodded. She had not remembered the pain of Alqualondë for a long time. It was always there in the back of her mind, with all the other horrors she had seen, but now it came back in all its monstrosity. And the nightmare of the Ice, too, the desperate fight to save as many as she could, and so many slipping through her fingers. Brannor standing by her side. So many others, too, who were now gone.

"We are not Sindar, my lady," Feliel said carefully. "We do not follow our rulers blindly. For better or for worse, that is not who we are."

Galadriel smiled at her, pushing her memories away. "Precisely," she said. "And that is why you cannot blame yourself that the people of this town do not simply stay on this shore when you tell them to."

Feliel laughed at the way the conversation had been turned on her. "Perhaps," she conceded. "But we do still have the tradition of following those from the House of Finwë. Your word simply has more weight than mine. If you speak to them..."

Galadriel sighed. Feliel was right, of course. It was only that Galadriel, though she knew it was the right thing to do, was tired of asking people to die for her.

"I will speak to my family, and Avorneth," she said aloud. "Perhaps we will make the plea together."

But her family was no more happy with the idea than she was. Celebrían, especially, refused to take part.

"If they feel ready to leave," she said, "then who are we to try and keep them here? They already lost their home, or several in some cases. They were not allowed to fight then. How could you ask them to fight now? No, I will not do this."

Celeborn was more understanding, but reluctant and sceptical. "If you truly believe it'd help, my love, I'll of course go speak with them," he said, "but I'm a Sinda, and had authority with them by virtue of being your husband. I don't believe I can add anything to your speech."

"Perhaps not," she agreed, "but you can speak to the Sindar who came here from Hollin."

"I can try," he said, "but I'm not certain...they know I was on the side of the Silvan when the recent changes happened. I fear I might have lost much of my authority with the older ones, the ones who are the most likely to sail."

Galadriel sighed. "Still," she said, "you can try."

Avorneth was the only one willing to help. Galadriel was perhaps a little surprised – she expected it of her, but at the same time was almost certain Ealc would not approve.

When asked about this, Avorneth shrugged. "Ealc does not attempt to intervene in what she calls our kingly nonsense. But she is not as opposed to the idea as you seem to believe. Among the Silvan, when you wish to gain a following, when you want to convince people of something, it very much depends on your personal charm and skills and reputation. The idea of you and me standing in front of the Noldor, attempting to convince them not to leave, is surprisingly in accordance with what the Silvan do. What Ealc herself did when she convinced them to help her put pressure on Amdír."

Galadriel considered this, and saw the similarities. "It is as I said," she commented, "the Silvan and the Sindar truly are the two cultures most different from each other."

And so they went to the Noldorin city and Feliel called the people to the main square, and they talked. They spoke of Middle-Earth and the protection it needed, the animals and plants who could not defend themselves from the attacks of the enemy, of those Men who were too weak or inexperienced to do so. Of all the ways Middle-Earth needed them.

"But we are not the Valar!" Someone from the crowd called. "This is their job, not ours!"

There was a low hiss of shock among the people in response, and Galadriel closed her eyes for a moment. She would wager that whoever it was that spoke, they had close ties to the Sindar. "When we left Aman," she said, "we claimed we could handle this world. We should prove it is so, not leave when things get bad."

"I was born in Middle-Earth," the unknown elf replied, "and I never made any claims about handling anything."

"Then, all the more, you should take responsibility for the place that is your home. We cannot simply leave and concede defeat to Sauron, one who has done so much evil to us already and who would do so much more if given the chance. We will not. I will fight him to the last, even if I was the last Nolde left in Middle-Earth. But I would like your company, and your help. Will you give it?"

There was a reluctant murmur of agreement from the crowd. Avorneth spoke then, about her mother and her grandfather, about justice and vengeance and war. About helping the rightful High King. About showing that the Noldor were not a dying clan just yet, just because there were more and more Numenorean settlements along the shore these days. About the need to fight.

When they returned to the capital, both Noldorin ladies were exhausted. Yes, they had convinced some at least, it appeared. But the knowledge of what it would cost them lay heavily on them both.

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Galadriel had been intending to do so for a while, and has postponed it for the last century because of the Ringwraiths, but now she wished for some soothing and distraction, and so she finally made up her mind and travelled south from Lindórinand to places she had never been before, and to a forest she had heard much about.

From what she understood, this forest was supposed to be one of the two remaining parts of the Great Forest that remained, now that it had been destroyed half by Sauron and half by Númenoreans building theirs ships and harbours.

When she reached its trees, she knew.

The same trees were to be found here that she remembered from a milennium ago, but they were more angry now.

Much more angry.

It was no wonder, but still, Galadriel was taken aback at the strength of anger she felt from them, and she did not dare enter the forest. Rather, she waited on the outskirts until Treebeard appeared, and mourned. Mourned the magnificent forest they used to be part of, the infinite-seeming rows of trees, alive and healthy and happy, even if unfriendly to elves and Men alike. It had been a realm of its own, and a magnificent one. And like so many others, it was gone now.

"My lady," Treebeard said as he stepped from among the trees. "It's been a long time."

"It has," she agreed. "Is this all that is left of your forest?"

"Or almost all," he confirmed in a voice that was even heavier and more rumbling than usual. "Some trees are left in the East and North, but they are far and only very few of us remained with them."

"I'm sorry for your losses."

"Thank you, my lady. They pain me, they do. I loved many of those trees. No, I loved all of them. Even those that are left here are changed by the fires of the fallen one."

"I can feel they fury, yes."

"Warn your people not to enter this forest," Treebeard advised. "We do what we can, but we cannot control it entirely and, as you said, it's furious."

"Is The Eldest here?" She asked curiously.

"No. He stayed in the North and East, with the few old trees that remain there."

Galadriel was surprised. "Truly? I travelled through those lands a few centuries ago and I didn't sense him, but...it's true that the road no longer leads directly through the forest."

"Yes," Treebeard agreed. "We moved the trees closer together, huddled them, when the danger came. It was not enough. But that forest is very thick now."

"I didn't go in," Galadriel said, "but I will the next time I go to Lindon, perhaps, whenever that may be. I haven't seen The Eldest for a very long time."

She stayed with Treebeard and other ents for a time, but not long. The trees of the Great Forest had never liked to be disturbed, and now with their anger, it was much worse. She knew they resented her presence, and so she left, thinking with longing of Doriath and the trees that loved elves, and the days Lady Gelvil and Galathil could spend with them. But then, perhaps if they were here, they could still stay, even in this angry forest. Galadriel had never been as close to the ents and trees as they were.

"Would you come visit us in Lindórinand?" She asked Treebeard. "It's but a little way to the north, and I believe you'd like the trees there."

"Perhaps," he agreed, "but I have too much work here. These angry trees need minding, to keep them from hurting silly Men who wander inside. We can only afford to go see the entwives rarely now, even. I can't leave."

"Then I will come again some day, to greet you, if you wish to see me," Galadriel promised.

"Do come," he replied. "I can't spare much time for you, but it¨s always a pleasure to remember happier days with you."

She smiled at him before heading back to Lindórinand.

She told of her experience before the council to pass on the warning, and Amdír gave her a look that seemed almost suspicious. "The ents came to speak to you?" He asked.

"Treebeard did, yes. Why?"

"We've tried to contact that forest for many centuries now, but the ents never spoke to us, and the trees discouraged us from entering," he explained.

"Well, I've known him for a very long time. It's no wonder, perhaps, that he spoke to me. You never really knew them when in Doriath, did you?"

"No...there were less of them in Neldoreth, and Treebeard didn't dwell there."

"I know. And there are no ents in Lindórinand, and those from the remnants of the Great Forest are too occupied with trying to control the angry trees to meet elves they do not know. So don't feel too surprised...and be careful about that forest."

Amroth was clearly interested, and went to speak to her about the matter as she left the council house.

"Do you think you could ever take me there?" He asked.

Galadriel frowned a little. "The trees don't live for amusement," she said, "and neither do the ents. I wasn't exaggerating when I said they were very angry."

"I know, but...still. I've always been curious about that forest. Father doesn't wish me to go there, but if I went with you, I'm certain he couldn't object."

Galadriel was less certain. "Why do you want to go?"

"As I said, I'm curious. I want to see."

"But why?"

Amroth was looking at her blankly.

"I won't take you," she told him, "until you can answer that question for me. Why should I disturb the trees and ents with your presence?"

As she left, she wondered whether she had been too harsh with him. But she simply had no patience for this, not when she was still grieving the loss of the magnificent Great Forest.

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When Galadriel headed for her next visit of Rivendell, she did so with determination: she would convince Elrond to tell her where his worries about her daughter truly came from.

She had thought, at first, that is was just the reluctance to have Celebrían face the grief of her children growing to adulthood more quickly, but as years passed, she realized there were echoes, when Elrond spoke about the matter, of something deeper and more disquieting. Of something that made Galadriel feel guilty for not spotting it sooner, for such feelings even arising in Elrond in the first place. That his words about darkness had not been just a momentary gloom.

So she sat with him in his study, and asked. "I do not understand," she confessed. "Why would you believe you were a bad match for anyone? Your grandfather was a king, and your great-grandfather on the other side, and your brother, too. There are not very many who can say that."

"You can," he replied, "or rather, both of your grandfathers and your brother were kings, and your father still is, beyond the Sea. So it will hardly impress your daughter. And do you not see? You say my brother was king. Yes, but king of what realm? Realm of Men that is crumbling to the shadow as we speak. King Telemmaitë not only has hatred in his heart, he is foolish as well."

Galadriel waved that aside. They had not been able to determine with any certainty whether Atanamir had turned into a Ringwraith or not, and the worry still lay heavily on them, but it was not why she was here now. "What does that have to do with you?" She asked.

"They are my kin."

"And my kin – and so Celebrían's – were Fëanáro, and all his sons, with their terrible crimes," she replied sharply. "Your brother's descendants did nothing bad enough to even compare."

"No, but they were noble Noldorin lords," Elrond said bitterly. "That, at least, is in their favour. My kin are Men."

"Is this about your fear of how quick your children would grow up, again?" She asked him archly.

"Not only that! How can anyone who has the blood of Men in him be enough for your daughter?"

Galadriel stared at him, left completely speechless for a few moments.

"Beloved," she said then, slowly, "do you truly believe that of your own brother's people?"

"I? No. But it is not me we are speaking of."

"So you believe, then, that my own daughter would?"

He flinched.

"We are not in Doriath," Galadriel said, in a voice she tried to keep soft even as hardness was creeping into it, "and my husband is not Singollo, as much as he may be of his kin. But then, so are you, and in a direct line, and you would not think that way."

"It is different for me, and you know it."

"You believe, then, that had you no blood of Men in you, you would despise them?"

"How can I answer that?" He asked her. "I have never been but what I am, and my mortal blood is part of me as much as the elven one is. If I did not have it, I would not be myself. Your husband, on the other hand, has never been much in touch with Men – he never even travelled to Númenórë."

"And that is what leads you to believe he despises them?" She demanded sharply.

"It does not fill me with confidence," Elrodn replied with soft irony.

"Celeborn never travelled to Númenórë because he dislikes travel, and sea, and there was little there that attracted him!" Galadriel took a deep breath, to keep herself calm. "Has he ever done anything to make you believe he would look down on you?" She asked.

"Not him personally, no. But..."

"Then I find it difficult not to be offended on his behalf, as you have known him for millennia and he has been a friend to you always, and yet you would think that of him!" Her voice was rising again. She knew it was difficult for Elrond, for reasons she could not fully understand, but insults to Celeborn were something she had trouble bearing.

"He has been friend to me, yes – while you were a mother." Elrond's voice was getting a little angry now, too. "Do you believe I never asked myself why that was, that he never grew as attached to me as you did? If it had something to do with who my grandfather and great-grandfather were?"

"Beloved," Galadriel said, her ire dissipating upon hearing this, and pain replacing it. He truly believed this. "I am sorry it injured you, but...you know the affection we feel for different people is not directed by reason or will, and Celeborn has few friends. He was never very close to Artanáro or Lord Laurefindil either, certainly not as close as I was. I do not understand why you would believe your ancestry was the reason in this case."

Elrond looked away, and was silent for a long time. "Perhaps you are right," he said at length. "Perhaps I am unfair to him. It is only that...many of his closest kin, closest that remained in Middle-Earth at least, the lords of Doriath..." He trailed off.

"You believe they despise you?"

"It is not a matter of belief. I know they despise me, or rather, what of Men is in me. Many of them did not hesitate to tell me when they still lived in Lindon."

Galadriel straightened in her chair. "What? Had you chosen to, you could have been their king! I would not think they would ever be so disrespectful to you."

"Oh, they never said so plainly. They always spoke kindly, you understand, as if I myself would know about the supposed disadvantage it gave me, that weakness in my family tree. But I heard enough veiled remarks about my unfortunate parentage, and about how it was perhaps wise that I rejected the kingship under the circumstances..."

"Is that why you rejected it?" Galadriel asked, terrified.

"No. I did not wish to be king, then or now. Their remarks started only later – perhaps they would have not dared had I been king. I do not know."

"Why did you never tell me?" She demanded.

"I do not rightly know. Perhaps I feared, in some hidden part of my mind, that they were right? Or I was ashamed? I felt, perhaps, that I should not burden you with it..."

Galadriel closed her eyes. "I feel like I have failed you, in so many ways. I have not protected you from these things, I have not assured you of my love, or Celeborn's..."

He lightly touched her hand. "You have done everything for me, Aunt. Always. Please, do not feel guilt for my own shortcomings. I should have known how to deal with those elves myself. But then, when have I ever known anything? That is another reason why I do not believe I am worthy of your daughter – perhaps if I had skills to make up for the disadvantages of my birth Celebrían would inevitably feel, I would be more at peace at it. But the one promise I gave to my brother, that I would keep his descendants safe...I failed in it, miserably. Would any promise I gave to her be as worthless?"

Galadriel gave him a sad look. "As I have told you many times, they have the freedom to make their own choices, and you cannot blame yourself for them. And Celebrían has the same freedom. She should be the one to decide whether you are worthy of her, do you not think?"

"Aunt...as you said, you love me. You see me, I fear, as a better person than I truly am. I am certain that you told your daughter many flattering things about me. She might...she might decide based on those stories, when in reality..."

The Nolde was approaching exasperation again, pushing the alarming things she had learned to the back of her mind for now. "Elrond," she said, "do you not understand how the Flame works? There is no falsehood in it, that is its nature, its entire purpose."

"In elves, yes, but then I am not wholly elven."

"So you believe your brother's love for Adanel, whom he chose over all of his loved ones, was somehow less real?" She asked incredulously.

"No, I simply...Adanel was a charming noble lady, but she was not _your daughter,_ do you not understand?"

Galadriel was exhausted. She did not know how else to put the situation that Elrond would finally see the light. She had been trying to convince him for a century now, and she simply did not know what to do. She feared that any more time, and she would say something foolish and harsh, something that would be difficult to take back.

"Forgive me," she said, "I will leave you for a time, to arrange my thoughts."

Elrond only nodded. "Could you perhaps speak to Lalvon later?" He asked her as she was leaving. "There was some misunderstanding again about the nature of his advice to me, and yours, and I truly believe it would be beneficial."

"Yes, of course. I apologize. I promised to do so such a long time ago..." But then the new discoveries about the rings drove it out of her mind.

She walked the grounds of Rivendell for a few hours to calm her mind, and then she found Lalvon in his office. When he saw her, he immediately rose and bowed quite deep. "My lady," he said.

"Chief Councillor," she smiled at him. "Elrond sent me to discuss the difficult business of giving advice to him."

Lalvon seemed a little unsure about how to take this, and Galadriel smiled again. "Peace," she said. "There aren't many in Middle-Earth whom I'd trust more with ruling a realm than my nephew...or nephews, I should say." Taking seriously Oropher's declaration that he was not one of them, that was.

"Yes, my lady. I completely agree with you. It makes me feel a little superfluous, to tell you the truth. Prince Elrond is quite capable of taking care of his realm, I'm sure, and with your advice, well..."

Galadriel wondered how Elrond liked being called Prince Elrond. Perhaps this was one of the reasons why he and Lalvon never became friends. Elrond never used the title himself, but she was not surprised that Lalvon thought of him that way. She nodded her understanding to what he had said. "At the very least," she said, "you can take part of his work on yourself, making it easier for him. Also, sometimes decisions are made easier when we can discuss them with others."

"I'm aware of that, my lady, but surely when you're here..."

"When I'm here, yes. But then I'm only here a few months of every year. Elrond needs someone to talk to for the rest of it."

"Lord Glorfindel is here all of the time," Lalvon pointed out.

"And his advice is very valuable, I'd never deny that. I think you can represent different points of view very well – Lord Glorfindel is a Noldo whose mother was a Vanya, and he has the best of both clans. You, on the other hand, are of the Teleri and a son of Doriath, and as such, have a different point of view, I'd imagine. Together, you're two sides of Elrond's heritage."

She chuckled to herself as she though that her nephew was unlikely to get a Man as an adviser at this point in time, unless one of Silmariën's descendants would be willing, and that it would be rather complicated to find a willing and suitable Maia.

-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-

One day, a visitor from afar was announced in Lindórinand, and when Galadriel came to see who it was, she could not believe her eyes.

"Amonel?"

"In all my glory."

Galadriel stepped to her in few long steps and embraced her. "My friend," she said. "This is very unexpected."

"We have not seen each other for a long time."

"Indeed! How are you? How is your uncle, and Arminas? How come you are here? Tell me everything."

Ambë laughed. "Should I do so right here, in the middle of the city?"

Galadriel chuckled at herself and led her friend to her house.

"I can't tell you that much about Uncle and Arminas," Ambë said as she gladly accepted the wine the Nolde handed her, "since I still live in Caras Aear, but I did speak to them as I was travelling here and they appear to be well. They fortified the Havens, part of the preparations for the war, and they have very detailed plans for sending troops by ships. Arminas found a way to count very exactly whether ships or land will be quicker, and now they have it all in detail."

"And you?"

She sighed. "Same as always. Doing work for the council and king, going through my days, wondering about the West. When do you believe they will allow him to come back?"

"I do not know, beloved."

"I wish we did! I wish we were at least allowed to know that much! I miss him in every moment and I would not want to miss a single day of his time back in Middle-Earth, but I do not wish to go West before he is back. There is no one else for me there."

"Will you not at least wait until the war?" Was Ambë, too, planning to abandon them?

"That is my plan at the moment, yes. I will help fight the war, and then we will see. Still...I wish I knew." She paused. "And how are you?"

"As well as can be expected. All the losses still hurt, but that will never pass as long as I am on this shore, I know." Galadriel did not particularly wish to speak about herself. She wanted to take her mind off grief. "Does the war preparation proceed well in Lindon, then?" She asked. "I hear so little from Artanáro, because of all the secrecy."

"It is bothersome – I had to come here in a very complicated manner to make it less obvious I was a connection between the two kingdoms. But as for the preparations, reasonably well, I'd say. We have the same troubles as I expect you have – many would rather sail than fight. Especially as Lord Glorfindel is now in Rivendell – the soldiers were very loyal to him, but they know Anor less well. He isn't a bad commander by any means, from what I understand, but..."

Galadriel nodded. "At least Lord Glorfindel is happy with the elves he trains in Rivendell," she said.

"Yes, I travelled through and heard him speak of it as well. It made me curious about the way troops would be divided in the actual war – would Rivendell have its own independent ones?"

"That will depend on particular tactics we decide to employ. It's too early for that by far, and I wouldn't be the correct person to ask about that in any case." There was a short pause. "Are all the people who will stay willing to fight?"

"Most of them, yes – almost all ellyn, and many an elleth, too."

"Sarnel's fate did not deter them, then?"

"Rather the contrary, I feel – those who remember her would like to avenge her, and those who don't look up to her as a role model."

Galadriel smiled. "That is very good to hear. That she is remembered."

"Artanáro wouldn't have it any other way. And don't forget, it was Lord Glorfindel who trained that army for a long time. I rather find it a wonder they didn't begin to detest her, with all the tales of her fighting prowess he used to regard them with!"

There were bittersweet smiles on both of their faces. Sarnel, the most tragic loss of this age so far. At the thought that many as tragic could follow in the coming war, Galadriel had to close her eyes to prevent tears from escaping.


	63. Confessions

**Chapter 53: Confessions**

 _Year 2565 of the Second Age, Rivendell_

It took over a century more to convince Elrond, over a century of assuring him of his worth and reminding him that if the Flame was true, he was punishing Celebrían by his secrecy as well. It helped a little that she was more willing to make the journey from Lindórinand now that she had met Elrond, a clear indication of interest on her part, but he still needed to be reassured it was not simply because she admired the scenery.

But finally, one day when Galadriel rode into Rivendell with Celebrían, she read the decision in his mind and so she turned to look at her daughter in curiosity.

She still remembered the first meeting of Artanáro and Oreth, and wondered if this would be similar. But Elrond had known about his love for Celebrían for a long time now, and so there was no surprise in his face, only calm determination. Celebrían, for her part, seemed overwhelmed. Her face shone with light as never before, and she could not turn away.

Avorneth approached Galadriel and turned her worried eyes to her honorary aunt. "What is going on?" She asked.

"The Flame of the One," Galadriel replied, smiling.

Avorneth sucked in a breath. "Truly?"

"Yes. My daughter found her love today."

"I do not remember...I mean, when I met Ealc..."

"Her mind is always closed," Galadriel replied simply. "It could not have been like that."

It was a while longer before any of the new lovers spoke, and when they did, it was Celebrían who turned to her mother and asked: "You knew?"

"Yes. I have known almost from the start – you know what I can be like when I know someone is keeping a secret from me – but I promised not to tell."

Celebrían turned back to Elrond, and asked: "What took you so long?"

Galadriel could not help but laugh, and even Elrond chuckled. "Insecurity," he replied.

That answer seemed to throw Celebrían. "Do you doubt the Flame?" She asked.

"Never. It is only myself I doubt."

Celebrían's gaze was questioning now, directed first to Elrond and then to her mother.

"Let us go inside," Galadriel said. "It is not good to talk of such things in public."

They heeded her words and sat down together in Elrond's chambers, sharing a bottle of wine. He turned to Celebrían and attempted to explain. "It is not easy for me," he said, "to describe my relationship to your mother so that you can understand properly. You can see what it is like in my mind, of course – you both can – but it needs a little more to shed light on my hesitancy, I believe." He paused, arranging his thoughts. "When I was a small child, my mother was the lady of New Havens and your mother was...well, your mother was _her_ lady, for lack of a better term. My mother was the one everyone deferred to, and she deferred to my aunt. As everyone else did, of course. So I was properly in awe from the very beginning. And then the sons of Fëanáro attacked, and your mother…I do not know what would have happened if she had not been there. To my mind, she saved all of us: my mother, Elros and me. And for the following six years – which seems like a short time, but remember it was the years during which I did a good part of my growing up – she cared for us and protected us from Nelyafinwë and Macalaurë, two extremely dangerous warriors. And then after that, she went to fight in the War of Wrath and I saw her as a military commander. I met again Artanáro at that time as well, and I could see how the High King of the Noldor deferred to her. So I...well, I loved her, but she was very much larger than life to me, even at the end of the war."

Galadriel listened to these words in astonishment, not quite understanding how it could have come to pass. She had spent every day with Elrond in those days, and though she had not been sharing her innermost thoughts with him – he was a child, then, or near enough, and some things were not for him to know – she still could not see how anyone could regard her as larger than life when she slept under the open skies and had to hunt her own dinner every night.

Besides, when Elrond had been explaining his hesitation to her, he made it sound as a matter of general insecurity, or perhaps insecurity about Celeborn. Now it sounded, once again, as if she made him doubt her love for him, and that pained her.

"I saw myself as a poor, half-human almost-orphan she took in out of her immeasurable goodness," Elrond continued. "The relationship became more equal in Lindon later, and I learned to be appreciated for my mind and advice, but your mother remained the person I respected the most in all of Middle-Earth, the wisest, most beautiful and powerful elf I knew. And then I fell in love with her daughter." He shook his head bemusedly. "It felt impossible from the start, a treasure so high I could never dare reach for it. Especially as your mother told me stories about my family since I was little, about her friend Lúthien and how brokenhearted she was because her son was growing so quickly. About my parents, whom your mother never had enough time to teach because time seemed to be slipping between her fingers as they changed from year to year. I know that my children will grow quickly as well, and that was the final reason why I told myself that I can never show you my mind."

"Let me only add," Galadriel said, trying to keep her tone reasonably light, not wishing to complicate the situation just now, "that I tried to convince Elrond how baseless all of these reasons were directly when he told me. But it took a little longer than that."

Celebrían was frowning a little. "I know well how hard it can be to grow up in the shadow of my mother," she said evenly, and Galadriel felt a sharp stab of pain, "but what of me? If you felt the Flame of the One, did you not realize that I would find no love other than you?"

"That the Flame would be returned is never assured in Middle-Earth. Likely, yes, but not assured."

Galadriel scowled at that statement, but before she could say something, Celebrían spoke: "What you mean is that the other half of the couple does not always recognize they feel it," she corrected. "But that is only because they lack self-knowledge. Did you think that of me?"

He cast his eyes down. "No, my lady. I apologize. It appears that in my fear of being unworthy, I have made myself so."

Celebrían shook her head. "No need to go so far," she said. "But I would like you to never again attempt such thing as hiding from me...or seeing me mostly as an extension of my mother."

Elrond shifted nervously at this point, and Galadriel rose and nodded to Avorneth. "I believe we will give you privacy now," she said. "We will see you at the feast, I assume."

"One moment, mother," Celebrían stopped her. "You told no one about Elrond's secret?"

"No one."

"Not even Father?"

"No – and it was not easy to keep such a thing from him and not close my mind entirely at the same time." It was the truth, after all. She need not mention that the other secret she kept from Celeborn was much greater, and much more difficult to hide, with the constant feeling of guilt that accompanied it.

"Nevertheless," Celebrían said, unperturbed by any difficulty Galadriel might be facing, "I would ask you to continue keeping the secret a while longer. I would like to get to know Lord Elrond better before Father learns of this. He will ask me many questions, and I would like to be able to answer them."

Galadriel inclined her head. She was a little surprised by the request, but it was Celebrían's decision, and she would interfere no more than she already had. "As you wish, beloved," she said, and she and Avorneth left the room.

Her niece was very quiet as they walked in the direction of their rooms, and when Galadriel turned to enter hers, Avorneth said: "Do you believe the wedding will take place soon?"

Galadriel looked at her carefully. "No," she said slowly. "Both Elrond and Celebrían like to take their time, and my husband, too, will attempt to drag the time until he has to part with his daughter. I know he had hoped she would fall in love with someone from Lindórinand. That is the one reason why Celeborn will object to the marriage that Elrond did not consider. He would have gladly agreed to Celebrían's marriage to a Man of the East, if he had a good heart and lived in our forest."

"At least Celebrían did not fall in love with anyone from the Lindon delegation," Avorneth said with a tight smile.

Galadriel gave her another look. "Beloved, remember that while Celeborn will part from Celebrían in time, you do not have to."

Avorneth frowned. "What do you mean?"

"If you wish, once Celebrían weds, you may of course follow her to Rivendell, at least for a time. I am certain Elrond would accept you, and it is only up to you how you arrange matters with Ealc."

"She would not want to live outside a forest," Avorneth replied. "And besides, I...would not wish to leave you, Aunt."

"No, but you wish to leave Celebrían even less."

Avorneth heaved a sigh. "I wish we could all simply live together."

Galadriel thought of Aman. It hurt, and it hurt that Avorneth, who had so little family left, would have to choose between its remaining members. Galadriel pushed the thought away and smiled at her niece. "I travel frequently to Rivendell, as you know, and it is likely that Celebrían will return to Lindórinand at least from time to time, to see her father. You would not truly leave me."

Yet they both know the absence would be felt all the same.

-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-

"So," Lord Laurefindil said as he slid into a place next to her at dinner, "I understand that congratulations are in order?"

Galadriel blinked. "Has Elrond told you? My impression was that they meant to keep it secret."

"One look at your daughter when she arrived was enough, my lady."

Galadriel exhaled. "Of course. Well, it is unlikely to be noticed by anyone else, so that calms me somewhat."

"Do you truly think my skills of observation are that exceptional?"

She only gave him a look, and he laughed. "Very well," he said. "You are probably right. But at any rate, I am very happy. My lord Elrond has been alone for a long time."

"You waited much longer to find Erestor," she pointed out.

"Yes, but then, I have never lost a twin. Ever since Lord Elros died..."

Galadriel only nodded. There had been a hole in Elrond since then, and there was some hope Celebrían could – not fill it, certainly, but make it less painful at least.

"And fortunately I do not have to be overly jealous," Lord Laurefindil added, "since Erestor should be coming this week."

"Oh? Any particular reason, or simply to see you?"

"Well, chiefly to see me, I should hope, but he will also bring some letters from Artanáro and we will discuss war planning."

Galadriel smiled, happy that they will have an opportunity to reunite even in the midst of such grave matters. "Tell me, are your discussions here as dramatic as you told me the ones in Lindon's council were?" She asked lightly.

"Oh, certainly. Perhaps even more so, since Erestor is less cowed by Lord Elrond than he is by the High King."

"I do not believe he has ever been excessively cowed by anyone." Galadriel still remembered the way he treated her when she first spoke to him.

"True enough."

There was a short pause. "Have you had any interesting news from Númenórë?" Galadriel asked then, in a more serious tone. "I meant to ask Elrond, but he has other things on his mind now."

"Well, Vanimeldë is a better queen than Telemmaitë was king, but that is not saying much. She is wiser than he was. Most of her efforts go into supporting art in her court, though. Some truly brilliant works have already been produces under her patronage, from what Erestor heard."

"While that would be good to hear in times of peace, I have different priorities in war," Galadriel said a little archly.

Lord Laurefindil smirked. "The queen does not, it seems, but then her wisdom shows in delegating the duties she does not wish to bother with to her husband, who is apparently a capable politician."

Galadriel grimaced. "Something in me revolts at that, but it might truly be the best solution in her case. Does she or her husband seem...well, dark?" Galadriel was not sure if she hoped Atanamir had had the ring, or that he had not. While the idea of him as a ringwraith was horrifying, at least there would be an excuse for him and his land in that. If some lingering effects could be found, it would be relief in a way.

However, Lord Laurefindil's reply was in the negative. "Not from what I know. Understand, they are hardly a match for the first kings of Númenórë in wisdom, or even for the current Lords of Andúnië, but they are better than the last few generations of kings were. Best, perhaps, since Tar-Minastir."

She exhaled. At least some happy news. "That is reassuring to hear," she said. "What about the war preparation, how goes it?"

"Lindon and us are both close to ready. What we wait for now is your side of the mountains, so to speak."

Galadriel nodded. "The good news is, from what I hear, Pelargir, the haven the people of Andúnië have built south of us and close to Mordor, is getting stronger every year. It gives me confidence that even if the rest of Númenórë turns sour, some help would come from them at least. As for the elves..." She trailed off. "The Silvan are not refusing to fight on principle," she explained, "but they are also refusing the notion of being obliged to do so, or commanded. They seem to fully realize the gravity of the danger, but still insist that no one can order anyone to march to their death."

Lord Laurefindil sighed. "We need them."

"Well, their argument has merit," Galadriel pointed out. "If they do not recognize kings, why should they follow their orders?"

"Certainly no one can force them, but...you know people need command if they are ever to get organized in any way, my lady. You know it better than anyone. If Erestor was here, he would say that this is why the Silvan never built great realms."

Galadriel shrugged. "Great realms by Noldorin definition, Ealc would reply. They are happy with the way they live." She paused, and they looked at each other and laughed.

"We should certainly introduce them, if at all possible," Galadriel decided. "It would be...entertaining."

"Also a little horrifying, perhaps."

They laughed again.

"Anyway," Galadriel continued, "as for Oropher...well. Amdír is working on it. With limited success."

"We cannot march into this war without Oropher, not when our own people are sailing and barely having children any more, too afraid of war coming while they are little."

"Truly?" She was surprised. She had not known that.

Lord Laurefindil shrugged. "That is what the High King told me when last he was here. The people of Rivendell never had children to begin with, us being a military outpost and all, so I did not know, but..."

"I will have to ask Feliel if it is the same among our Noldor. Sauron is well contained now, and he will not attack sooner than in a few centuries. There is no need to be so very cautious now, but if they wait too long, it could be too late then."

"I know that, my lady, but then, it is not me you need to convince. I will not have children either way. And the High King...well. He is rather reluctant to encourage anyone to have children in order that the children can fight in a war, as I am sure you can imagine."

Galadriel felt a pang of pain for Sarnel. "Yes," she said. "But then, I would not wish to do that either. People merely need reassurance that the war will not come in the next century or so. Their natural desire to have children should do the rest." She almost choked as she said that. Natural desire to have children indeed. She thought of Elrond and Celebrían, and prayed that her daughter had not inherited her terrible selfishness.

-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-

Galadriel wished to give her daughter and Elrond as much privacy as possible for as long as possible, and so she decided to set out on that journey she had been considering for some time now – to see The Eldest again.

She had been warned by Treebeard that the remnants of Great Forest in North and East were small, but she had not expected them to be so much so. It was barely fifty miles across, and when she remembered the hundreds of miles it used to have, she did not know whether to cry or rage.

The first she went to find were the Ents. There were very few of them now, but they were willing enough to explain. "The orcs cut down many of the trees," they said, "and the forest shrunk back from them."

"And didn't you protect them?" Galadriel was surprised, not accusing – she would have expected the Ents to sooner perish that allow their trees to do so.

"We did," the Ent replied, "but there was a sea of orcs. That's why there are so few of us left now. Many died, both Ents and trees. We who are left are the ones who were inside this small remnant of a forest when the killing took place. We were spared, us and these trees, for some time still. But no one wishes to grow where the orcs have defiled the land now, and so we won't expand."

And all of this, Galadriel thought, goes back to me and my choices. If only I could have chased Sauron away…it was not only elves who died because of her, it was trees and Ents as well. She closed her eyes and bid a hasty farewell to the Shepherds of the Trees, lest they saw her guilt.

It was still in these thoughts that The Eldest found her. "You only come here when your heart is very heavy, it seems to me," he said. "You trouble my forest with your heaviness."

"I apologize," she replied, "but then it seems to me that your forest was very heavy even before I came."

"That it was. But not with guilt, with hurt. It does not need your guilt, so shoo! I will talk to you at the edge of it."

Galadriel obediently walked back, and sat down in the grass under the trees at the forest's border, waiting for The Eldest. He joined her soon enough, and asked: "So what is it that troubles you now?"

"Nothing particularly troubles me," she replied. "I wished to see you again."

"You only ever come here when you are troubled," he opposed.

Galadriel would have liked to argue, but she knew it was true enough. "You are not easy to converse with without a particular purpose," she tried to defend herself.

"Most would say exactly otherwise," he replied lightly. "But I was not complaining. I do what is needed, and when you are here, it is comfort that is needed. You have not been to see me for too long. I see much pain in you that was not there before."

The Nolde sighed deeply. "I lost my kingdom, and with it, my dearly beloved niece and her husband and son."

For some reason, he chuckled. "Lost your kingdom, you say. But the land was never yours to lose, was it?"

"It is not the land I mourn."

"What is it, then?"

"Have you ever created something, my lord?" She answered with a question.

He chuckled again, and then the chuckle grew into a full blown laugh. "You could say that, yes," he said at length.

"And would you not be filled with grief if you saw it destroyed?"

He cocked his head to the side. "Destroyed? It can only be changed, twisted, and then you can change and twist it again, to make it even better than it was before."

"Perhaps you can, my lord. But there is doom upon me, and if I tried again, I believe it would turn out even worse."

"Then it probably means you are doing it wrong, does it not?"

She slowly exhaled. No one else in Middle-Earth would dare to say such a thing to her, which was why she came to see The Eldest. "Probably, yes," she assented reluctantly.

"And if you were doing it wrong, then it's no loss it's gone. Now, about the dead people, that's worse, but then you will see them again."

"I will not."

"Don't talk nonsense."

"I do not," she insisted. "I am not allowed to return to Aman. Lady Ilmarë herself came to tell me."

This failed to impress The Eldest. "It's still nonsense. Of course you will see them. You will see everyone again."

"After the world is remade, yes. That is a...very long time, I assume."

"And once again you talk about something you know nothing of."

"Do you want me to believe that we will see the world end with this age?" Galadriel asked sceptically.

"I do not want you to believe anything. I only say the truth, that you speak of something of which you know nothing. Use the time you have left until you see them again to do something useful, be so kind. The trees are tired of you, and if you persist in this nonsense, I will become so very soon as well."

Galadriel sighed. Her visits here never went quite the way she imagined they would.

-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-

On their way back, the Lindórinand ladies stopped in Hadhodrond. Galadriel had not spoken to the king for too long, and Avorneth wished to discuss some practical application of a theory she had or something of the sort. Galadriel did not entirely understand. She was there to do politics.

King Veig welcomed her warmly enough, and as long as they discussed trade, he was friendly. It got worse once they got to war.

"So far," he said, "this hasn't concerned us. Why should I drag my people into it?"

"Sauron will hardly leave you alone."

"He has so far. He even gave us rings."

"Because he wanted to enslave you! Haven't you seen what became to the Men who accepted them?"

"We aren't Men," he replied angrily. "And yes, perhaps he wanted to enslave us - Or perhaps he genuinely wants allies who can mine as much gold as we can. Many of my people would die in this war. Why should I risk it, when I don't need to?"

"Don't you value your freedom at all?" Galadriel tried.

His answer was biting: "We're free now. I don't see us being any freer if we're dead."

"Do you see yourself being freer as servants of Sauron?" The Nolde asked sharply, slowly loosing her cool.

"We won't become anyone's servants. We could trade with him just as well as with elves, I assure you." He was mocking now.

"Don't you care at all that he wishes to enslave all others, then?" Galadriel demanded, thinking of King Lómi with nostalgia.

"And do the others care about dwarves?" He returned. "How many elves worry about our fate, eh?"

"You know I've always done everything in my powers to help you," she reminded him.

"Even if I believed that – and I have some doubts, mind you – how many others are there?"

Galadriel had to stay silent. In this age, after her brother and Nelyafinwë were dead and Hollin fell, the elves tended to either ignore the dwarves or be hostile towards them. Only the few surviving Noldor from Hollin who were still in Middle-Earth were an exception to that.

"See?" The king said. "I have no obligations to those who care not about me, and even less towards Men. If you or your people from Hollin asked for shelter here, we would grant it, perhaps. But that is the most we'll give."

"Would you grant me shelter if you knew I would continue the fight from your halls?" She asked him archly.

"We would not endanger ourselves for you," he replied. "We don't owe you that much."

"It's elven magic that protects your kingdom from being too noticeable, still," she reminded him.

"Yes," he agreed easily, "and were Celebrimbor still alive, we'd do anything he asked for him. For his daughter now too, I suppose. But you, while an ally for a long time, never did so much for us, and we don't owe you a debt. Fight your war, and don't drag us into it."

Galadriel left Hadhodrond feeling, rather gracelessly she supposed, that the only luck was that by the time the war actually started, a different king would be sitting the throne. Mortality had its advantages.

-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-

Celeborn did not make keeping Celebrían's secret easy after they returned to Lindórinand. "Something seems to have happened to our daughter," he told Galadriel two days after their arrival. "She seems changed."

The Nolde did not reply.

"Do you know what it is?" He insisted.

"Yes," she said at length, "but I promised not to share it."

"Not even with me?"

"Especially not with you."

Celeborn looked hurt, and she sighed. "It's a sign of regard and care," she said. "Don't worry. I assure you, it's no tragedy."

"It worries me what could it be that our daughter would say to you and not to me," he muttered, and then his mind showed regret for his words. "I didn't mean-" he began.

"It's quite alright. I realize fully that you're closer to her than I am. In truth, it was merely me being in the right place at the right time than led to me discovering the secret, and if it was up to Celebrían, I don't believe she'd have told anybody. So it is, perhaps, better that I found out," she added, thinking of what Artanáro had said. "If neither of us knew, we'd have worried too much."

Celeborn nodded. "I sometimes forget, you know," he said then taking Galadriel's hand, "that she's over a millennium old."

"Yes," Galadriel said with a smile, stepping closer to him and letting him embrace her. "When I was her age, I had gone through the Darkening of Valinor and the Ice. The idea terrifies me. She seems so young to me...what must my parents have felt, when we were leaving Aman as old as she is?" She stared off into the distance, thinking of the short time she had to say goodbye, of how hasty everything had been in those moments.

"I can't imagine it," Celeborn admitted, laying his chin on her shoulder. "It's...no. It will give me nightmares just to consider it. I will calm myself by thinking that how old one is does not depend solely on the years."

"That is very true. Amroth, after all, is almost three millennia old." Galadriel shook her head. "That will never cease to amaze me."

"Has he given you a reason to take him to the Great Forest yet?" Celeborn asked with a smile in his voice.

"No. He keeps asking, but truly, his single reason for going is that he wants to." She sighed. "Sometimes I feel this is his way of dealing with all the tragedies of his early life. To simply...enjoy everything to the fullest, and never think too much ahead or too much in depth."

"We have to hope Amdír will never die, because as much as I like Amroth, I believe he would be truly unhappy as king."

"Unhappy," Galadriel agreed, "but not necessarily bad. He isn't like Aldarion, unwilling to curb himself in any way. He doesn't like doing so, and he likes taking pleasure in the moment, but he can do without it if a duty is required of him."

"Yes," Celeborn agreed, "the realm would not suffer, or not much. He would."


	64. Advice

**Chapter 64: Advice**

 _Year 2710 of the Second Age, Rivendell_

„I am so happy to see you," Galadriel said when Artanáro dismounted his horse in Rivendell and embraced all of his friends in greeting.

„And I you," he returned, giving a nod and a smile to those who stood in front of Elrond' house bowing to him. "Any particular reason to be especially glad just now?"

"As always, it has been too long."

"That it has."

Together with Elrond, they went inside the Lord of Rivendell's study, to have some time in privacy before the evening festivities. "What news from the West?" Galadriel asked.

"Worse and worse in Númenórë again, I fear," he replied with a fleeting look at Elrond.

"Worse then when the usurper was holding the reins of power?" That worried Galadriel.

"Well, not that, I suppose," Artanáro calmed her, "even though...well, does it even matter?"

"Have you, perhaps, been spending time with the Silvan?" Galadriel asked archly.

He laughed. "No, of course, it was an evil deed by Herucalmo and it sets a bad precedent and all that, but...well. His wife was unsuited for politics, as you know, and his son is not a much better at it. Only he lacks the wisdom his mother had to hand the power to someone else – or perhaps he lacks the right person for it."

"Herucalmo was not such an excellent ruler either," she pointed out.

"No, he was neither honourable nor very wise, but at least he was competent, from what I understand from Elrond and others who still go to the island. And when you see that your son will be a bad king, well, is it not at least a little justified…?"

Galadriel gave him a look. To hear such words from him was shocking. "If I believed that," she said, "I would have taken power in Narogrotto, and perhaps even before that. But that, of course, would have meant I had fallen."

He exhaled and shook his head. "No, of course, you are right. I am merely...well, tired. I am thinking of the war. I want to win. I want to destroy Sauron for ever, to eliminate the danger he poses to Middle-Earth. I want...I want to avenge my daughter. And for that, we could certainly use competent Númenórë as allies. We cannot do it without them if Oropher is still unwilling to march by our side."

Galadriel pressed his forearm in silent sympathy and then said: "He is, but give him time."

"Time! But how much time do we have?"

"Sauron is still contained to the East," she reminded him.

"It would not be him if he was not preparing some other trick, as before!" He took a deep breath, and in a calmer voice, added: "You understand why it is important for me to defeat him, do you not?"

Galadriel smiled sadly. "He killed by brother, beloved, and took my realm from me, as well as killing your daughter and Tyelperinquar and many of my people. I have despised him for a long time."

"I know. Please do not think I meant to imply that your wounds were less painful than mine," he implored. "It is only that...I do not have this skill you have, this ability to wait and bide your time. I learned patience from you, and from my father, but perhaps I am still too much my mother's son for this."

"I do not remember you ever making a mistake because you were too hasty, beloved," Galadriel said soothingly.

"Not yet, perhaps, or not a big one at any rate, but this waiting grows hard for me. I was only thinking...Herucalmo would have been a competent military leader." He chuckled mirthlessly. "Lord Laurefindil is not here, so I can say it: perhaps I am listening to Erestor too much, more than the Silvan." He was silent for a moment, then sighed and took an apple from the bowl of fruit that stood at the table. "What news from this part of the world? Cheer me up somehow."

Elrond gave a small smile. "Well, I believe I may have such news," he said with a twinkle in his eye. "If Valar are good enough to allow us all to survive this war, I will be getting married...to Celebrían."

Artanáro's eyes widened, the apple stopping halfway to his mouth, and he looked from him to Galadriel. "Truly? But that is excellent! The best news! How long has this been in the works?"

Galadriel smirked a little impishly. "Ever since you asked me, those centuries ago, what it was that Elrond was keeping secret."

Artanáro put the apple back down. "And you kept it from me for that long?"

Galadriel only gave Elrond a loaded look.

"I kept it even from Celebrían for most of that time," he admitted. "It is only recently that we have reached an understanding."

"He means a century ago," Galadriel said in a stage whisper, and Artanáro laughed.

"Well, yes, but your daughter did ask me for discretion," Elrond defended himself. "The last time she was here, however, she gave me her leave to tell Artanáro."

"In any case, accept my sincerest congratulations, please. Rarely have I heard of a match that would give me as much pleasure."

"Thank you," Elrond replied, looking away in slight embarrassment.

"Why plan the wedding only after the war?" Artanáro asked curiously. "I would understand children, but..."

"Celebrían wishes for time," Elrond explained. "As far as I know, she has not told her father yet."

"No, she has not," Galadriel confirmed.

"Why?" Artanáro wondered. "Does she suppose he will object?"

Galadriel sighed, and poured them all some wine as she thought about how to phrase it. "Celeborn loves our daughter very dearly, and he does not easily become close to many people, as you know," she began to explain. "He feels all the more bound to those he does consider near and dear. He will not like the idea of her leaving, however much he might like Elrond. And Celebrían, however much she loves her father, knows that he will...well, not exactly try and prevent the marriage, but do his best to delay it and make certain Celebrían was absolutely sure. So she wishes to be."

"But surely the Flame..."

"Have you ever known a father to accept that reasoning?"

He raised his eyebrows. "I did."

A flash of pain went through Galadriel, and she looked away. "I am sorry, I should not have-"

"No, it is quite all right, Aunt. But precisely because of this experience, I am surprised at your assumptions about Celeborn. You know I had reasons to be doubtful about Sarnel's choice, but I trusted her to recognize the Flame, and that was all I needed, truly."

Galadriel was still wary of speaking of this, but Artanáro truly did seem to be handling it well, and it was too good a comparison to pass, so she carefully said: "Yet Maewel did not feel quite the same way, did she? You know she did her best to convince Sarnel not to marry Tyelperinquar, and you know Celeborn is more similar to her than he is to you. When something matters to him a great deal, he is not always perfectly reasonable – his biggest failing, as he says – and this, I and Celebrían both know, will be one of those things."

Artanáro considered this, chewing his apple, then slowly nodded. "I remember hearing you mention something like this a few times already. But in truth, I do not believe I ever saw your husband less than reasonable, so perhaps that is why I have trouble imagining it."

Galadriel smiled at that. "Because you did not see him when he learned what Tyelperinquar said about him and your wife. Or, sometimes, when the envoys from Greenwood are particularly pointed in their insults to me. As I said, he cares about the few people he allows into his life very deeply, and does not always react in moderation when he feels injustice is being done to them."

"That, I can certainly understand. After all," he added self-deprecatingly, "you have just witnessed it in my impatience to destroy Sauron for ever."

Galadriel felt he still did not understand, that his kind of impatience was very different from Celeborn's, but she did not have the words to explain it. Perhaps there were no words. Perhaps it was only the intimate knowledge of Celeborn's mind that made it possible for her to understand. Perhaps, as Celeborn insisted, it was a Sindarin thing. Aloud, she only said: "That is a rather different sort of reaction, I believe, but you are correct that it comes from the same place of caring."

He nodded. "I should not even intervene, really," he said then, "Celebrían is your daughter and his, it is only...fathers who try to control the lives of their daughters too much make me uncomfortable. It makes me think of my father."

For a thousandth time, Galadriel felt the injustice of there being so much pain in Artanáro's past. "Your father would have liked controlling you, as well, not only Findoiolosse," she pointed out gently, "only you did not give him a chance. And so with Celeborn: I do not believe that he would have acted differently had Celebrían been a son. He is no Singollo."

He looked stricken. "I never meant to imply he was, I-"

"No, no, I know you did not," Galadriel reassured him. "I am simply pre-emptively defending him. That is my task, after all."

-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-

Avorneth was sitting with Galadriel and Celeborn, drinking wine after dinner. Ealc's regard for societal norms was low even for a Silvan, and she saw little point in social calls unless she personally found the company stimulating or had nothing better to do, so Avorneth often came alone.

"I believe," she said, "that Ealc is finalizing the agreements with different Silvan settlements. The vast majority of people agreed to help in the war."

"This is thanks to you," Galadriel pointed out. "Or rather, to your marriage."

"It is thanks to the revolt Ealc organized," Avorneth corrected.

"Which was because of your marriage," Galadriel said with a smile.

"Well, yes. And you are right – the way the Silvan were before – the kingdom was before, completely divided – they would never have agreed."

"They will bleed for it," Celeborn pointed out.

Avorneth inclined her head. "They are well aware. But he participation in council gave them better appreciation for Middle-Earth matters, and they no longer see it as exclusively other people's business. They even began to travel more again, something Ealc tells me they had not done since the early days."

"What does that mean, early days?" Galadriel asked curiously. "Since they came here?"

"Not quite that long, no. You know the Nandor left the Great Journey because they liked the lands of Middle-Earth too much, do you not? Well, they wished to see as much of them as they could, so they travelled for a long time, moving from place to place, and even after they settled here – they chose the most beautiful forest, as Ealc says – they still rode far and wide to see other beautiful places. It was not until the Enemy came that they withdrew into the forest and began to guard its borders."

Galadriel had not known that, and found it fascinating. A people who were so self-contained now, to travel all over Middle-Earth...it was hard to imagine. "Is that only the case of Lindórinand," she asked, "or were the other Nandor communities like this, too?"

"No, Ealc tells me it was the same with Greenwood elves, and even with the Avari," Avorneth replied.

"The actual, true Avari? The ones who never even started the Journey?" Galadriel had only very vague idea about those, and no knowledge of their culture or customs. She fleetingly thought of her brother. If Ingoldo had still been alive, he would have no doubt already set out East to meet the Avari and find out as much as he could about them.

"Yes," Avorneth confirmed. "They hardly ever came here, of course, but they did often mingle with Greenwood elves to the east of their forest. In Greenwood, you can still find elves who have hair the colour of copper or bronze. The Avari colours."

"Truly?"

"Yes.

"For the first time, I am now feeling deeply regretful that I am not welcome in Greenwood," Galadriel noted. "I have never seen such an elf, and it makes me curious. Have you met them, my love?" She asked Celeborn.

"None that I recall – but then, I expect they will live more in the eastern parts of the forest, where I never went."

"What does Ealc say," Galadriel continued her questioning of Avorneth, "are the Avari very different from the Nandor? In their culture and customs, I mean."

Avorneth shrugged. "She does not remember this herself, she was born too late for that, and the tales do not seem to speak of it. You know what stories are, better than I do. They like telling the origin of things, or great battles, or great loves. Not talk about wedding customs."

Galadriel laughed. "Too true. So, any great battles or great loves?"

Avorneth laughed too, at first, but then she furrowed her brow. "No great battle that I heard of, but there are, in fact, stories of a great love that might interest you. As we have Beren and Lúthien and Tuor and Itarillë...the Avari say they have two tales like this, too."

"Indeed?" Galadriel had not expected that. The fates of those two ladies she loved, she had always believed, were unique.

"Yes. There are said to be two elven brothers, who both fell in love with two Second-born sisters. One of them became mortal for his love, and that made it possible for her sister to take his immortality and become one of the elves. Or so the story goes."

Galadriel frowned at this. "Well...forgive me, but that sounds very much like only a story. Two brothers, and two sisters, it is a little too symmetrical. And an exchange of immortality...you know it does not work this way."

"No, of course not," Avorneth agreed easily. "Certainly not all of it is true, or accurate. But some of it could be, do you not think…?"

"I suppose." Galadriel was still sceptical. "How old are these tales?"

"From some time in the First Age, it seems."

"Hmm. I wonder..."

"What?"

"I wonder whether it is possible that the Avari heard the tales of Lúthien and Itarillë and adapted them."

Avorneth scowled. "But, I mean...in these stories, the elves are neri and the Second-born are nissi. It seems unlikely..."

"You are right. That is strange indeed."

-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-

Because of the approaching war, and the need to convince the Noldor to remain in Middle-Earth, Galadriel came to the Noldorin city more often in the last centuries than she had before. She also frequently needed assistance with envoys and scouts, since the ruse they were playing with Sauron, where they pretended she and Artanáro were too heartbroken to ready any serious resistance, limited what she could do in person.

That, of course, meant also that Galadriel spent more time with Feliel than ever before. Her esteem of her governing abilities grew even higher, but she was also surprised by some of the things she found out.

Had someone asked her but a few centuries ago who was Feliel most like in her acquaintance, apart from her cousins before they were hit by suffering, Galadriel would have named Lord Laurefindil. But sometimes, when she came to visit, she found Feliel in a very un-Laurefindil mood.

On this particular day, the lady was sitting in front of the large window of her house, looking out onto the city, her eyes unseeing. She barely even turned when Galadriel entered.

"What is the matter?" The older lady asked, worried, for Feliel's mind only gave her a very vague idea of wrongness.

"My lady," Feliel said formally, still not turning from the window. "I will not be good company tonight. Perhaps we can postpone our meeting?"

"Of course, we need not discuss anything official. But is there some way I could help you?"

Feliel chuckled without mirth. "You could take the rule of this city from me."

"Do you no longer wish to have this responsibility? Has something happened?" Galadriel stepped closer to her, looking searchingly at her face.

"Nothing exceptional, I suppose," came the flat response. "Just another conflict I was not very successful at mediating. Just another failure as a ruler."

"We all make mistakes. Me, Artanáro, Ñolofinwë...there has not been a king who was without them. We already talked about this."

"I know, and I apologize for bothering you with this again. I told you I would not be good company tonight."

Galadriel sighed. That was not what she had meant. "And I told you I would help if I could, so if you are willing, feel free to talk to me."

"Well, it is simply...like I said, I feel I am not particularly good at this task, and it is not like I have some other talents to make up. I cannot write songs or sing, I cannot paint, I am a bad warrior and dresses and jewels made by me look like made by a child."

"I already told you I thought you were well suited to governance. That is why I chose you for it."

"Not terrible, perhaps, no, but...well, do you not see?" Feliel sounded a little desperate.

"No, I fear I do not."

"I am of the Select!" Feliel exclaimed, rising from her chair and beginning to pace. "I should be better at this, or at something! We are supposed to excel in something enough that the One thought it worth it to give us that ability instead of the ability to have children...it is not enough to be not terrible! You can do governance better, and you are not Select!"

Galadriel put a hand on her shoulder to stop her, and intently looked into her eyes. "Do you _want_ a child?"

"No! I simply do not wish to be a disappointment."

"Are you? Is there anyone disappointed in you?"

"I am, and The One is, I believe."

Galadriel gave another sigh. "Do not presume to know what He thinks," she chided softly. "We do not even know if this is the true purpose of the Select. It is simply what we believe." It was true that the other belief she knew of – that of the Sindar – was hardly reassuring. She suddenly realized she had no idea what the Silvan thought. She had to ask Ealc – or Avorneth, since she spoke to her more often. "But even if we are right," she continued, "do you even know for certain that you are Select? I mean, you are not married, and as far as I know, you have not felt the Flame yet. Or have you? Have you and Aseanettë…?" Galadriel had had her suspicions.

Feliel laughed bitterly. "I wish! I had hoped for that desperately at one point. But as it turned out, Aseanettë is decidedly not Select, and I was wrong in believing I felt the Flame. But still...I have liked a few neri in my life, chiefly when I was young, but most of those that ever caught my eye were nissi. If I understand the One's intentions correctly, that means the person I will eventually feel the Flame for will be a nis, too."

Galadriel thought of Lord Laurefindil, and his conviction that only one gender, nissi or neri, could catch one's eye in this way. She wondered what he would say to this. Perhaps she should introduce him and Feliel? But then, there was no doubt about what it was that Lord Laurefindil was so excellent at that he was Select for it. Perhaps it would only make Feliel feel worse. "Well, then, there will be some other reason why the One made you Select," she said instead, in as easy a tone as she could manage. "It might not be completely apparent to you, but His ways are mysterious after all."

"Or perhaps I am just a failure."

"Do not cast the One's plan into doubt, my dear. That would be blasphemy."

Feliel sighed. "Of course. Forgive me for bothering you with this, as I said."

"There is nothing to forgive. I told you I was willing to listen to you. And let me assure you once more, I believe you are doing an excellent job."

If only, Galadriel thought, it was as easy for Feliel to believe as it was for her to say.

-g-g-g-g-g-g-g

After the council where Ealc announced the overwhelming numbers of Silvan elves willing to fight in the war, Galadriel stayed behind with Amdír and Amroth. She wanted to discuss some matters, but perhaps even more importantly, she wanted to gloat just a little.

"You realize you couldn't have done it without Ealc's help, and without her sitting on the council, don't you?" She asked him.

"Certainly not without her help," he replied, "but then, if you recall, she was helping me even before your intervention."

"I have very strong doubts her help, at that point, would have stretched this far."

"Perhaps not quite this far," Amdír conceded, "but I don't believe it'd have been insignificant."

Galadriel looked skeptical, and Amroth laughed. At her questioning look, he elaborated: "It's always amusing to me how you regard my father as mostly inept at ruling this kingdom."

Galadriel began to protest, but he shook his head. "No, I don't doubt you have more experience and everything, but how can you not see what impossible situations he managed to navigate?"

"Perhaps I haven't emphasized this for a reason," Amdír told his son drily.

Galadriel transferred her look to him, and he explained: "Your disapproval is an uncomfortable thing to face."

"Why'd you believe I'd disapprove if I heard of your impressive governing skills?"

"Because you might not like the way they were employed?"

She only looked at him more intently, so he elaborated: "When I left Greenwood."

"You know leaving Greenwood can only ever meet with my sympathy."

"Yes, but..." Amdír sighed. "I told you that I could have left alone, returned to Lindon and admit I was wrong. Instead, I founded my own realm. That was no accident. It took quite a bit of effort on my part to make that possible."

Now Galadriel was amused. "And you thought I, of all people, wouldn't understand your desire for an independent kingdom? Truly?"

"A kingdom in a forest where the Silvan already lived?" He returned.

Her amusement disappeared. "That's a different matter," she said. "I'll never approve of what you did there, but that had little to do with you leaving Greenwood."

"That's debatable – there are no friendly forests free of elves where we could have settled. But at any rate, that is why Amroth laughed when you mentioned Ealc wouldn't have helped me so much. I met her soon after we arrived here, and I recognized her talent and abilities. I exerted a considerable amount of effort to make her my friend, or at least ally."

Galadriel's eyes widened. "That's why she was so furious with you, personally. It wasn't merely the principle of the thing, it was a personal betrayal!"

Amdír frowned as he considered that. "I suppose she saw it that way, yes. But I truly didn't know she was Str- Select."

"And you believe that was the only reason for her anger with you? Then you've learned nothing," Galadriel told him sharply, and saw him exchange a look with Amroth she did not quite understand. "Besides," she added, "would you knowing it have changed anything?"

"I suppose not." He sighed. "Do you know what I discovered, when I still lived in Greenwood? When Oropher was confronted with so many Select there, and was desperately trying to come to terms with it, to make some sense of it?"

Galadriel shook her head, motioning for him to go on.

"Not only did many Select live in Thousand Caves, Queen Melian actually knew about them."

Galadrie frowned. "Well, she'd have had to-"

"I mean in a more practical sense, not just being generally aware. They used to come to her for a blessing of their relationship."

Galadriel blinked. "But she told me there were no married couples – and how would she keep that from Thingol -"

"It wasn't marriages they came for, no. It was quite literally her blessing. But as for King Thingol, that's my point. I think he must have known, at least a little, at least something. And it didn't change anything for him, not even the knowledge that his wife blessed these unions. Even though he almost certainly knew it concerned some of those close to him. Knowing this, I don't believe he could have not known about Beleg and Mablung, and yet he did nothing. So I'd like to tell you that knowing Ealc was Select would have made me reconsider at least some things, but...I don't know."

"Do you take Thingol as your model?"

"No...but I don't believe I am so much better than him."

-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-

AN: Galadriel, the clueless straight ally and the unknowingly orientalist scholar. She means well, poor thing.


	65. Parenthood

**Chapter 65: Parenthood**

 _Year 2850 of the Second Age, Lindórinand_

In spite of all of Galadriel's attempts, Feliel was clearly not reassured in her worries and fears. Sometimes, when Galadriel came to the Noldorin city, she found its lady being as cheerful and joyful as she was used to knowing her, but sometimes, she found her in the same brooding mood she did not know how to help with.

She hesitated about divulging such personal information, but when it was going on for almost a century without any indications of improvement, she got sick of only watching and consulted Avorneth.

"Have you ever felt like you were...well, not living up to being Select?" She asked on a walk through the forest.

Avorneth gave her a surprised look. "No," she replied, "because I did not know I was one before I met Ealc. And since then...well. I am theoretically aware that according to the Noldor, I should have some special talents that make it worth it not having children, but I never felt as if I needed to make up for anything, or justify anything. I am Select because it makes it possible for me to love Ealc. That is reason enough." She shrugged. "It would be reason enough to live, let alone be Select. She is all the reason I need."

Galadriel smiled at that. She would never cease to be grateful that among so many Avorneth had lost, she found someone new to love as well. The empty spaces left by dead family could not be filled, she knew that better than most, but still, without Celeborn, she would have been lost a long time ago.

"Could you, perhaps, go and speak with Feliel?" She asked.

"Why?"

Galadriel described the problem, and Avorneth sighed. "I might only make her wistful," she said. "There is no guarantee when she is going to meet her Flame, and certainly none that it will happen soon. Telling her that it would be purpose enough, when she does not have that love yet..."

"Then do you know of some other thing to say?" Galadriel questioned. "I would dearly love to help in some way."

"If Celebrían was here, she would tell you that you cannot fix everything. I understand the desire well enough, though." Avorneth considered. "Perhaps Feliel should speak to Ealc."

"To Ealc? Why?" For all the respect she had for the lady, Galadriel did not think her skill lay in comforting others.

"Well, the Silvan have...quite different ideas about the Select, so to speak."

"What do you mean?"

"To begin with, they do not even have the word."

Galadriel shrugged. That was not very surprising. "Neither do the Sindar," she said.

Avorneth, however, shook her head resolutely. "No, that is not what I mean. The Sindar did not call us the Select, no – at least not before Lindon and this kingdom, before we made the term more popular among the young ones – but they called us the Strange. It meant mostly the same thing, even though their word was, of course, more negative. But the Silvan do not have the word."

Galadriel blinked. "At all?"

"No. Instead of talking about Select and...well, normal, they talk about those attracted to the nissi and those attracted to the neri. It does not matter what gender they are themselves."

Galadriel struggled to wrap her head around the concept. "But do they not...I mean, is the word not missing in the language?" She knew a little Silvan, but only a little, for it was a difficult language, and she had no idea about this.

"No," Avorneth replied as she paused to examine some particular flower growing on the forest floor, "because they do not believe that we are special in any way. Not in the bad one, like the Sindar, but not in the good one either, like the Noldor. And once you get rid of this supposition, you do not really need it."

"But...Ealc knew you were not allowed to marry and live together in the old capital. How did she..." How could she even think about it, without having the word? Galadriel knew that thoughts were not entirely formed by words, but still, words gave them structure. Contemplating something without having the words for it was difficult indeed. That, she believed, was the chief reason why Fëanáro had spent so much time on language all those millennia ago.

"She knew the capital and knew the Sindar, she knew what the Strange were," Avorneth clarified. "But she did tell me it took her a while to understand, and that along with the idea of kingship, it was to her the best proof that the Sindar were very different indeed. Though she thinks our own idea of the role of the Select is almost equally silly."

"From what I can gather, she thinks so about most aspects of or culture," Galadriel said lightly.

"You are not wholly wrong, though she does admire our dedication to craft and the discoveries of our wise deeply. As for the rest, well...the more I listen to her, the more I tend to agree with her."

"Would you prefer to lead a wholly Silvan life, then?" Galadriel was curious.

"Certainly not! There are many silly things about their customs as well, and many inefficient ones. There seems to be nothing constant among them. And some of our customs, even though I can see their silliness in a way now, I would not abandon."

They walked in silence for a while, taking in the beauty of the forest at twilight. The Galadriel said: "I still struggle with the notion that you truly do not need the category of the Select for anything..."

"In truth," Avorneth replied, "ever since I learned of the way the Silvan divide people – nissi-attracted or neri-attracted – I find that word missing in Quenya and Sindarin much more than I miss Select in Silvan. It is just so much more useful!"

"Truly? For what?" Galadriel had certainly never needed it in her life.

"Well, say there is a handsome nis that comes to visit a settlement. In Silvan, you can say 'all the nissi-attracted will be happy to see her.' Or you need to change clothes and you fear someone present could look at your naked form with desire, and so what you need is to make sure there are no 'nissi-attracted' people around. Or a friend is helping you get dressed for an important occasion, and you do not quite trust her judgment, so you say you need someone nissi-attracted to evaluate. I could go on. For all this, we do not have a word."

Galadriel considered it. "It is true," she said, "that in most of these cases, we would simply say a nér instead, which I realize is ignoring the Select in a way, and it is perhaps not very fair to you. And try as I might, I cannot think of any need for the word Select that would not include speaking about either your rights, or your special status, so if neither arises with the Silvan...but still, that means...if there is no word for it, does it mean there is no understanding oneself like that? No one can really consider themselves Select?"

"No, and that, perhaps, would be a downside to some, I recognize that. Especially some of the Sindar I spoke to, those who were shaped by prejudice against them. Being Select seems to be a very important part of who they are. But for me...I told you I never knew I was one before I fell in love with Ealc. That is what it means for me. Being Select is loving her. That is why I fear I would be of no help to Feliel. Let her speak to Ealc, though."

Yes, Galadriel agreed, she probably should. If only to gain a new perspective.

-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-

Finally, after centuries, Celebrían determined that she was certain enough and told her father about her intention to marry Elrond.

Galadriel was very grateful her daughter had warned her in advance and asked her to be present, for Celeborn's first reaction was very typical for him. "What did you say?" He asked in a raised voice.

Celebrían looked directly at him, completely unperturbed. "That I'll marry Elrond after the war is over. I'll leave you now, Father, to think about it."

At Galadriel's look and her touch in his mind, Celeborn managed to withhold any other reaction until Celebrían was far enough not to hear. „He's over a millennium older than she is!" He exploded then.

„Why should that matter?" Galadriel asked as calmly as she could, already feeling tired. She had known this would come, but that did not make her wish any less that Celeborn's reactions to things that affected him strongly were less volatile.

„It matters because of what the first century of his life was like!"

Galadriel smiled. "Do you know that this is precisely what he said, when he explained to me why he does not feel worthy?" It was one of the things, anyway. The rest was too personal to divulge. "I told him that she has the light he sometimes lacks, and he has the wisdom born from experience she sometimes lacks, and that they'd form a great couple."

"Our daughter has wisdom enough," he retorted curtly.

"Yes, but not that kind of wisdom." Galadriel took his hand and caressed it, and slowly, she watched him exhale and get calmer, at least a little. "My love, why should we even be arguing about this?" She asked when she judged he was calm enough to answer reasonably. "They've felt the Flame of the One. What else is there to be said?"

Celeborn sighed. "You have to understand," he said. "Celebrían is my better self, she is me without the bad character traits, me with your calm and your ability to read people..."

"My calm?" Galadriel laughed.

"You know perfectly well what I mean. She does not say foul things to people on the spur of the moment, like I just did. I owe her an apology, don't I?"

"You very much do, my love. But perhaps wait until you're completely certain you are calm."

He collapsed into a chair and she sat next to him. "I'd never accuse you of not caring for her, my love," he said after a moment, "but you have other children, in spirit...I only have her, and she is precious above anything to me."

Galadriel took his hands again, and kissed them. "I know," she said then, "and that is why you need me to remind you that you can't hold her to your side by force. Our daughter is an adult, my love, and she'll be happy with Elrond. You know she will, you know how good and wise he is. You know him well. It gives me immense joy that two whom I regard as my children will be making each other happy, and I wish you could see it that way as well."

"I try to, but I just...I have always hoped she would choose someone from Lindórinand, or...whatever realm we dwelt in."

And that, of course, was the heart of the issue, as Galadriel had known. Anything else was just excuses. She smiled, glad that they arrived at it so soon. "My uncle and cousin," she said, "certainly wished I had chosen to settle closer to them as well. Yet they never tried to stop me – not that I asked their leave. I was of a similar age as Celebrían is now...though she does seem much more of a child than I felt, then."

"Because she is much more of a child," Celeborn replied with emphasis. "We've already discussed this. Even in Hollin, we've shielded her from most of it, as much as possible. You've lived through terrible things at that age. She's mostly lived in bliss."

"She lost dear friends in Hollin, my love, don't forget. I wouldn't call that bliss."

"Yet you wouldn't compare it to the Ice or to witnessing the first kinslaying either, would you?"

"Not as it was, for Celebrían was no longer too close to any who died there and she didn't see the tragedy through their eyes. If she had, I'd have compared it to any suffering I know, for I'd gladly cross The Ice again rather than feel one more loved one die. But you're right, she didn't witness it – except in Avorneth's mind – and so the effect was somewhat milder." She smiled then. "You, on the other hand, were almost as innocent as she is now when we married."

"If my daughter ever went through anything like I did during the fights with the Enemy before you came from the West," Celeborn returned, "then I'll find and personally kill the one responsible for it."

"You're right...I sometimes forget your struggle before we arrived. But that's beside the point. However much suffering our daughter lived through, she's still an adult – has been for a millennium and a half now – and you can't prevent her." She remembered her talk with Artanáro, and added: "You aren't Thingol."

Celeborn grimaced as if in pain. "No," he said, "I could never...please, tell me I haven't acted like my late king just now, towards my daughter."

"Not quite," she replied carefully, "not the least because she knew what to expect as your first reaction and was prepared, but..."

He looked away. "That makes me even more ashamed."

"We all have our faults, my love," Galadriel said, pressing his hands again. "For mine, thousands usually die. If the worst yours lead to is your daughter being a little upset..."

"Even if making her upset is what I want to avoid most in the world?" He paused, and then gave a resigned sigh. "Very well, then," he conceded, "I'll apologize to her, and give my consent to the marriage – not that it was ever asked in the first place. She's truly your daughter." He sighed again. "At least it won't be until the war is over."

"Hopefully, that will be soon enough," Galadriel replied, and he grimaced again.

"I don't want her travelling to him, though," he added. "Not now. The road gets more dangerous by the year, and Gorthaur's strength is growing. Even with the entourages I send with her, it's no longer secure. I want her to be safe."

Galadriel gave him a look that was just a little exasperated, knowing there were other motives – motives he would not admit even perhaps to himself – behind this decision. But he was not wrong. The elven realms were now preparing for war in earnest. Oropher had finally agreed, and so there was some hope that the end of it could be in sight.

Unfortunately, Oropher's agreement had not come because he was convinced by Amdír's and Celeborn's reasonable arguments. Instead, it was precipitated by Sauron breaking his focus on the East and doing his best to gain ascendency in the West again. If they wanted to keep up the ruse of not being prepared, of being heartbroken still, there was only little they could do against it.

Where there could only be found one of two occasional stragglers just a century or two ago, the Misty Mountains were now teeming with orcs, and some could even be found in the lowlands. The guards around Lindórinand had to be doubled. Men from the smaller Númenorean settlements moved into the larger cities to stay safe, and the viceroy in Middle-Earth mocked the elves for cowardice when he saw their unwillingness to protect his villages, even as he himself refused to send Men of the West to protect those who were native to these lands. Elrond provided shelter to as many as he could in Rivendell, but he was too far North for most of them. So was Lindórinand, and there, in addition, most elves did not wish to receive Men and the council had voted against it. The only hope of 'lesser Men', as the Númenoreans called them, was Pelargir, where those affiliated with Andúnië still ruled. They welcomed refugees with open arms.

Those elves who were not skilled enough or strong enough to fight were leaving for Aman in large numbers, and the rest was involved in careful, furtive planning. They have learned their lesson from the last time they attempted to go to war with Sauron, and wary of provoking him into something as unpredictable as his presence in Hollin had been, they sacrificed time in favour of secrecy.

Coded letters were exchanged under the guise of family visits, scouts were few and far between, and the kings took care not to visit each other any more often than they had before. Information travelled slowly, and so when Galadriel had learned of Oropher's agreement, she was honestly surprised, in spite of Sauron's increased activity. She had almost stopped hoping.

"Does he know I am the one who coordinates this?" She asked Amdír after one meeting where Oropher's war plans were relayed.

"Not quite. In fact, we try to keep your role as concealed as possible. It's partly because of Sauron's spies, of course, but the help it provides with Oropher is a good side-effect. If he learns on the battlefield, it'll be too late to withdraw – even though I'd really prefer it if he didn't learn of it at all..."

The idea amused Galadriel. "And how exactly do you plan to conceal my involvement in the final stages?"

"Well, you won't be leading the charge, will you? I mean, no offence to your skills, but you know you do not have experience as a military commander. Even in the War of Wrath, you worked on the strategy and coordination, while Rodnor commanded the Middle-Earth Noldorin troops and Lord Círdan the Sindar."

Galadriel gave him an arch look. "I have more experience in some commanding capacity than most, excluding Lord Glorfindel. You know perfectly well Rodnor consulted most things with me during the war. None of us had much commanding experience then, because all of those who had were dead, and there has only been one war fought since, where the forces were led by Sarnel and Elrond. You've never commanded anything bigger than a unit, and Amroth, whom you named your second in command, has never commanded anything at all." She shook her head. "But that doesn't matter. You're right that I never intended to be the chief commander in this sense. Tactics is not my strong suit. But what I did always intend was lead the strategy planning. I do that already, now, and you know it's part of the plan. How do you propose to arrange it so that Oropher won't notice?"

"Well...you could act through intermediaries?" He suggested.

Galadriel laughed incredulously. "Valar help me...so you want me to absent from the main strategy planning so that your cousin's ego doesn't get bruised? Let me tell you outright that that's out of the question."

"So will you risk him walking out so that _your_ ego doesn't get bruised?"

"This isn't about my ego! I coordinate all the war efforts, and have done so for centuries. Not being present at war councils could seriously endanger our progress."

"So could Oropher's absence."

"He has no right to demand I take no part!"

"No," Amdír admitted without batting an eye, "but he still does, and the long and short of it is that we need him."

"And you need me at the meetings," Galadriel countered.

Amdír took a deep breath and said more quietly, but with emphasis: "Do you truly believe, if you honestly examine the situation, that Rodnor couldn't take your place there?"

She sighed. "Perhaps. I'd have to prepare him, and I'd still insist on being present. I might agree to not running he meetings, but I can't risk not being there and something crucial escaping me."

Amdír shook his head. "If you're there, you won't be able to refrain from constantly commenting. I know you enough for that."

Unfortunately, he was not entirely wrong in this respect. She sighed again. "There's no need to worry about it now, in any case, it'll probably be a few centuries until it comes to that. Perhaps he'll come to his senses before then."

"I wouldn't hold my breath," Amdír muttered.

There were, indeed, still at the very least two centuries of preparation ahead of them, if everything went well. Apart from gathering intelligence and planning strategy, one of the more daunting tasks was making enough weapons and armour and transporting them to those who needed them without Sauron noticing.

And, too, there were disturbing news coming from Númenórë, or even more disturbing than usual.

Elrond went to visit after many years of absence, and what he found horrified him.

There had been longer and longer gaps between his journeys there, for he felt less and less welcome and had more and more to do in Rivendell, and now he mostly went for the passings of the Sceptre and weddings of the King's Heirs. This time, he returned after three decades out of the need to speak to the Lord of Andúnië only to discover that the teaching of Quenya and Sindarin were now discouraged in Númenórë, and elves were painted as enemies.

"I understood from some hints that while the king was officially crowned as Tar-Ardamin, he is only ever called by his Anduniac name, and other languages are not spoken in his presence. He spoke Anduniac to me, certainly."

"Did you even understand him?" Galadriel asked incredulously.

"Mostly. I know something of the language, but I cannot speak it. He treated me very rudely in general, and when I departed from the capital only a day after my arrival, it was suggested to me that I need not come back."

Galadriel was horrified. "Such a sharp turn for the worse in such a short time..."

"Short time?" Elrond scoffed. "The situation has been getting progressively worse since Aldarion, effectively, with only one or two slightly brighter spots."

"I know, but still. When he took the Sceptre, I could have never imagined something like that. Do you know what caused the deterioration in the last decades?"

"The new king, what else." Elrond offered her some dried fruit, and when she refused, he took a plum and continued: "Ardamin's father, while far from wise, was a mostly capable and reasonable man. He reminded me of Meneldur a little, in fact, only less noble and wise, as is to be expected in Númenórë nowadays. He declared that Númenórë's own culture and heritage should not be seen as second-rate on the island, which I have to say sounded reasonable. It made me think of what you and Celebrían have told me about the Silvan in Lindórinand, in fact. So he had an alternative to his reigning name in Anduniac, and started to give important speeches in both languages, and so on. It was all very proper. His son, it seems to me...misunderstood the purpose, perhaps intentionally, perhaps not. He was not open to hearing an explanation of what I believe his father intended, at any rate."

"Did you go to Andúnië?"

"Yes, of course." Elrond took another plum. Galadriel wondered if sweet foods made him feel less bitter about the situation. "Andil, the current Lord, welcomed me as warmly as always. When I told him of my experience in Armenelos, he apologized for my treatment, and expressed hope that the situation will improve in the future. But, well, we both know that is not likely, given past development. Or at any rate, it will not improve by much, and not for long, only to get worse again. Besides, I did not see any signs that it should get better. I questioned him in detail, and nothing he said suggested it either. The King's Heir seems even more foolish than his father, if something." He shook his head. "Andil assured me, at least, that they still remain faithful. It is as if I am destined spend the rest of my life regretting that I did not support Silmariën for queen."

She gave him a sympathetic look - if she had ever blamed him for it, his own self-blame outgrew hers a long time ago – and he continued: "He also said that there were others who were faithful, and so I encouraged Artanáro to keep sending envoys to them, but I will not return there for a long time, not unless I have some indication that the situation changed." He looked off into the distance, the fruit abandoned for now. "For the last several centuries, I kept hoping it would turn around, that the kingdom would return to the glory I know, but this seems like a point of no return. I have failed in taking care of them, Aunt. I have neglected then. They were my brother's children, I gave him my word, and I have failed."

Galadriel gave him a pained look. "They always said of me that I take too much responsibility upon myself, but I seems I passed that tendency on to you. Remember they did not turn from the right path because you came there less frequently, but that you started to come less frequently because they turned from the right path."

"But if I had persevered, perhaps I would have turned them back," Elrond insisted.

Galadriel sighed. "I know your guilt intimately, beloved, though I wish with all my heart you never had to experience it for yourself. Have I not asked myself the same after Hithlum fell? Had I stayed with them, had I not moved away, would they have perhaps survived? Would my advice being with them at all times have helped? But this way leads only to despair..."

"At least they were not your brother's children. They are all I have left from him, and I failed them."

"Elrond, I left my own kingdom in its hour of need, with Artanáro's daughter in it, and it was in my kingdom that Sauron learned how to make the ruling ring. Do not play the game of guilt with me, I will always win."

There was a short silence, as Elrond found himself unable to answer that. "I have wanted to ask that for a long time..." He said then, slowly. "Why did you leave? I mean, it was reasonable, of course," he added hastily, "but still, it was your kingdom, your dream, I would have expected you to send Celebrían to safety but to stay yourself..."

She looked at him. "Do you truly wish to know?"

He seemed to hesitate, but then nodded.

"Because I could not continue fighting the temptation any longer. Had I not left that day, I would have forced them all to do my will a day later, or at least attempted to."

He looked at her for a moment, horrified. "But...you did not," he said in the end, a little weakly.

"No, I did not. And Sarnel died, as did her son and husband."

"You know it was the right decision," he said with emphasis.

"Yes, I do know...that does not, however, make the guilt disappear."

They were silent together for a while, then Galadriel said: "I wish Celebrían could be with you to ease your mind."

"No, Celeborn is right – this is no time for her to travel, there are too many orcs in the mountains, and while we could send a company large enough to protect her, we would lose many in the fights on the way. And it is no time for weddings either. There will be time enough afterwards."

"On this on the other shore," Galadriel added. He gave her a look.

"Do not speak that way, Aunt."

"Why not? You know well that you may die in the war, and you know that if you do, Celebrían will go West to wait for your return from Mandos."

"She would not leave you here."

"Celeborn might go with her."

"And you?"

Suddenly, Galadriel felt very tired. "I cannot," she replied simply.

He frowned. "What do you mean?"

"I suppose it is time I told you." Elrond was one of those closest to her, after all, and he should know. If he died, he should understand why she would not be awaiting him in the West. He should never again believe she did not love him enough. However much she was ashamed to speak of it, this took precedence. "It goes without saying it is in confidence," she began. "Only Celeborn and Artanáro know. I would ask you to keep it from my daughter as well, even though I cannot of course expect any secrecy between you after you marry. But...after the War of Wrath, the Queen of Arda had a message for me. I cannot return until I regret that I ever left."

Elrond's eyes widened. "But you will never..."

"Precisely. That is why I can never go back."

The full horror of it dawned on Elrond, and he took her hands in his. "No!" He said. "They cannot do that! They have to take you back, you have done so much..."

"I am afraid," Galadriel replied bitterly, "that they are the Lords of the West. They can do whatever they wish."

-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-

Celebrían, as always, waited for news of Elrond when Galadriel returned to Lindórinand.

"He is worried about Númenórë," Galadriel reported as soon as she climbes to the talan that was exclusively Celebrían's.

"He always is," her daughter returned.

"Yes, but it is more serious now," and she recounted what she learned from her nephew.

Celebrían closed her eyes and one tear escaped her and trailed down her cheek upon hearing that he was told flat-out not to come back. "I wish I could go to him," she said quietly.

"I know you do," her mother replied. "He wishes to have you by his side, too, but not enough to risk you journeying across the Mountains, not even through Hadhodrond. We have discussed it."

"I know, I know. I would not wish to worry Father. It is enough that he will lose me for Rivendell in time, there s no need to make it harder for him."

"You are very...patient with his approach in this."

Celebrían shrugged languidly. "I see his mind, and I understand him. I might think he is...a little silly, perhaps, but then I do not have children, do I? Perhaps when I have a daughter, I will feel similarly about her."

Galadriel shook her head. "I do not believe so. You do not have...well, Celeborn himself says that you lack his fault of being too impulsive about things that concern him deeply. I think you will always be able to temper your reaction by reason."

"Father is not completely unreasonable, you know," Celebrían defended him.

Galadriel smiled at that. "No, of course not. As you said, just a little silly sometimes, perhaps. But then, I feel I should tell you that Elrond was heard expressing agreement with how dangerous the journey over the mountains is."

Celebrían laughed melodiously. "I think he is just trying to be polite. He does not wish Father to take his consent back."

Galadriel did not think so, and thought that her daughter underestimated the danger of travelling the mountains. One of the effects of her relatively sheltered life: she had never had to fight for her life. It must have seemed easy when she only heard about it from stories, and when she knew her mother travelled to Rivendell every year. But Galadriel, as all elves from the West, was safe from random orc attacks. Unless they were part of an army commanded with a creature of strong enough will, orcs would not attack them. The light of the West they carried was too strong. Celebrían, however, did not have that advantage.

"Certainly I would not wish for Elrond to regard me as a fragile flower," the younger lady added.

"I will give him the message," Galadriel promised.

"It is very strange," her daughter mused, "to be exchanging communications with my betrothed by way of my mother."

"Well, in some ways, I am your mother and your future mother-in-law at the same time. I would say that is even stranger."

"To be sure. Especially as sometimes..." Celebrían fell silent.

"What is it, beloved?"

"I fear that what I will say will hurt you, even though I do not intend it to and I truly do not say so in bitterness."

"Tell me anyway."

"It is only that sometimes, when we speak and exchange stories with Elrond, it feels to me like you are more his mother than mine."


	66. Kingship

**Chapter 66: Kinghsip**

 _Year 3000 of the Second Age, Lindórinand_

„Once we march to war," Amdír said, "I want our troops to join with Oropher's."

Galadriel could only stare at him. "What?"

"It feels like the least I can do."

"The least you can do?" Galadriel rose, pacing Amdír's sitting room. They were alone there, sharing a class of wine, comfortable until now. "You know he has almost no commanding experience, and he's foolish. You'd be putting your own people at risk by doing that."

"What would you have me do, then?" Amdír asked her in a conversational tone, still sitting. "He asked this of me. He joined this war against his better judgement, and he has to constantly conform to the wishes of the Noldor he despises. If I turn him away, he might well feel that all have abandoned him and decide not to fight after all." He paused and gave her a considering look. "I know you don't like him, and for a good reason, but try to see the situation through his eyes. He dislikes you very strongly, and blames you for many wrongs in the past. And now Lindon is ruled by one of your nephews and Rivendell by another, and he wonders to what degree I'm under your thumb as well. He still considers himself my king. If I turn him away, he'll see it as a confirmation that my loyalty is to you instead of him, and he won't march to a war which he'll see as being directed by you. He's convinced you'd sacrifice all of our people, the Sindar and the Silvan."

Galadriel exhaled. How much more pain, she wondered, would be caused by Oropher's unhealed wounds?

But then she stopped her mind from going down the alley of regret of the past, and instead thought more about what Amdír had just said. She sat back down. "You know," she said slowly, "I think Amroth might be right. Perhaps I did see you...well, not exactly as inept, but as less capable at governance than you are. As much as I resent it, you're completely correct in what you just said."

"Of course Amroth was right. I've been aware of that since you came here – no, since you founded Hollin and started visiting my realm with regularity. I already told you it was at least partly conscious choice to let you believe that on my part." He looked away for a moment. "I'll be honest. It's easier to avoid your judgement when you think I'm inept. You judge those you consider capable more harshly."

"Don't you?" She asked him, and he flashed her a quick smile and a nod in response.

"But why be so open with me now, then?" Galadriel questioned after a moment, as she was rearranging some assumptions in her head.

"I might die in this war," he said, still looking away. "Yes, especially if I ride into battle under Oropher's command. I'm well aware of that." There was a short pause. "I don't particularly mind the idea," he added. "I'm tired of Middle-Earth, and I miss my wife dearly. By now, she's sure to await me in Aman. I look forward to seeing her again." He finally looked at Galadriel, and she could see his sorrow in his eyes and in his mind. "But if I die," he continued, "Amroth'll be left here, for he's by no means ready to sail. He'll need your help with governance. He knows most things about the way I rule, but know and understand isn't the same thing. I feel I should be open with you and Celeborn, tell you all I know about my people, the entire history of my departure from Greenwood. You need to know it if you're to help Amroth rule this realm."

"Shall I call Celeborn here, then?" Galadriel asked, curious and wishing to hear what it was that Amdír had kept from her.

"Not now. I'll need to prepare, mentally, for that talk. Perhaps I'd prefer to speak to each of you individually, anyway. You can both be a handful, though each in a different way, and this'll be a difficult conversation for me. But some day, yes."

Galadriel was now growing worried, for more than one reason, but it was obvious Amdír wished to say no more about this particular topic, so she returned to the previous one. "What does Celeborn think about your plan to join your forces with Oropher's?" She asked.

"I haven't told him yet. I wished to discuss it with you first."

She raised her eyebrow at him. "Why's that?" About most things that concerned Lindórinand, as opposed to more global politics, he usually asked her husband first.

"I wished to see your first reaction," he replied. "He'd have told you, naturally, and then you'd have come with a carefully prepared plan to convince me otherwise."

Galadriel laughed in spite of herself. "You know me well. But I'm not certain you've helped yourself much. You're the King, Amdír, and ultimately it's your decision, but..." She gave him a hard look. "I can't allow this for my people, for those who came from Hollin with me. Some of them, I've saved from Hithlum, and then from Nargothrond and Doriath and in the end, from my kingdom. I won't let them fall because of Oropher's pain."

Amdír nodded. "I expected this much," he said, "and I believe it's for the better, really. The Noldor are used to a very different style of fighting than the Silvan, and I'm not certain how well mixed units would work. It'll be difficult enough with the Sindar You can take your people and join Artanáro or Elrond, unless they wish to fight with us. I'll speak to Celeborn about those from Doriath and give him the same choice."

Galadriel understood it as the dismissal it was, and left, feeling no need to argue about it, though much need to argue about other things. _You are not the Queen here_ , she repeated to herself. _They are his people, and it is his decision._

It failed to calm her, and she sought out Celeborn instead, to tell him the news.

Her reasoning did not calm him either.

"The Sindar from Doriath that left Greenwood with him will be part of it," he said. "I don't trust Oropher's leadership. He's half insane. And they, at least, are my people, even if I discount the Silvan with which we've shared a kingdom for over fifteen hundred years."

"They chose Amdír's leadership, my love."

"Precisely. Amdír's, not Oropher's. They're the people who turned their backs on Oropher because of his insanity, and now Amdír wants to throw them back at his mercy!"

Good half of them did not turn their back on Oropher because of his insanity, it was the resentment of the Silvan influences in Greenwood that motivated them, but it was useless to point it out now. "Then talk to him," she said instead. "Perhaps you can convince him to give his people a choice."

"I might, yes. But you know best of all how illusory such choice is. They'll follow their king, just as the people of Nargothrond followed theirs."

Galadriel flinched, and he immediately came and took her hands. "I'm sorry," he said quietly. "I'm angry and I..."

She nodded. "I know." She learned long ago not to take the things Celeborn said in anger to heart, but every reminder of the Battle of Unnumbered Tears always stung. Not that she could forget it even without them. And there were other thoughts that emerged, the time she abandoned Narogrotto, and the fact that the people of Hollin did not, in fact, follow their Queen. But those were her own ghosts, and it was no fault of Celeborn that they haunted her. "I understand," she said aloud. She hesitated, then added: "Rodnor should be in Rivendell in six months. I'll time my journey there for that period, and attempt to convince him to speak to Amdír. I don't think it'll do much good, but I'll try."

Celeborn frowned. "Your journeys..."

Galadriel shook her head at him and kissed his forehead. "I've told you several times, and I'll tell you again: I survived wandering Beleriand directly before the War. Sauron's attempts have nothing on me."

He swallowed his next objection, but she caught it in his mind and gave him an ironic smile. "Would you _prefer_ there were two sons of Feanor travelling with me?"

He grimaced. "Just...be careful," he said.

"I always am," she replied.

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Artanáro was not thrilled by the news, though not knowing the people in question, his reasons were more strategic. "The less elves are under Oropher's command, the better," he said. "I do not entirely trust him."

Galadriel frowned. "What do you mean?"

"Oh, I do not suspect him of betrayal...but it is not beyond him to do something absolutely foolish and risky. Do you know that he refuses to accept armour?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"Yes. He says his people have their own way of fighting, and that he will not become a Noldorin vassal by wearing our battle clothes."

"It seems Amdír just _forgot_ to inform me of this part." She paused. "Celeborn is right, he really has gone insane."

Artanáro looked away, and Galadriel immediately said: "Do not blame yourself."

"How can I not? I let them leave, I did not try to mend the relationship, I allowed him to descend deeper into his pain..."

"He was not your responsibility. You were a king of a new kingdom at the time."

"And Amroth and Thranduil were my friends. For their sake, at least, I should have found the time," he insisted.

"Celeborn could not convince them to stay, and he is Oropher's uncle," Galadriel reminded him.

"He is also you husband. He never stood much chance."

"And you are my nephew. Do you believe you had more of one?"

"I could have tried harder."

Galadriel exhaled. "Is every one of my loved ones doomed to be plagued by the same kind of guilt I have?"

Artanáro reacted automatically, almost instinctively. "It was not your fault," he said.

She laughed bitterly. "Oh yes, I know, none of it ever was." She shook her head. "Sometimes," she said quietly, "I do not understand how you can bear to as much as look at me. Your father, your sister, your daughter...their blood is on my hands."

"Their blood is on the hands of the Enemy," he said coldly, "and Sauron."

"It is never that easy, and you know it."

"Then, if you wish, Sarnel's blood is on her own hands, for she chose to stay." Artanáro's voice broke as he said this, and he added more quietly: "Why do you not focus on the fact that you saved my granddaughter instead?"

"Did I? I saved her life, yes. I did not save her from the pain of feeling her parents die and her twin brother wither away."

Artanáro flinched, and she shook her head. "Forgive me," she said. "My guilt is my own to deal with, and I should not be burdening you with it."

"I did burden you with mine."

She smiled, though it was not a happy smile. "You are my nephew," she said simply. "I am here for you."

"Then I should be here for you, do you not think? It is not like many others will."

 _No. They are all dead._ Galadriel shook those thoughts away, too, and said: "Thank you, beloved, but you know I can never entirely accept that offer. As much as you are a wise and ancient king now, I can never entirely forget seeing you as a baby."

Artanáro smiled in spite of himself. "This has always made me wonder," he said. "I can understand this approach, of course, but what I mean is...Itarillë was much younger than you, was she not? And yet, from what I remember, you never saw her as a child."

"I do not see you as a child, beloved. I have not done so for a long time now. Do you not realize that?" Had she failed to show her respect to him, like she had apparently failed to show her love for Elrond?

"Of course I do. You have treated me as an equal ever since I became King, or thereabouts, to my great astonishment at the time. But still, I cannot help feeling there is a difference in how you regard me and how you regard Itarillë."

Galadriel thought about it. "Perhaps you are correct. I can certainly never entirely forget that you are much younger. With Itarillë...I could not quite forget either, she was like a younger sister to me, but you are right that there is a difference. I believe it comes from both me and Itarillë remembering Aman, and the Darkening of Valinor, and the Ice. We shared many of the early horrors in our lives. Also, the difference in our age were years in Aman, and nothing much happened there until the last years. Age difference in the Blessed Lands always meant less than in Middle-Earth, because less experience went with time there. The difference between you and Elrond, for example, would have been almost completely negligible there."

"It is negligible by now."

For him, Galadriel knew it was – for Elrond, she suspected not entirely so, but then, it had little to do with age. "Yes, by now – when you are both thousands of years old!"

There was a knock at the door, and Elrond himself, who had been dealing with some minor Rivendell issue, entered.

"You do not have to knock at the door of your own study, beloved," the Nolde remarked, amused.

"It is not the place, it is the private conversation I could be interrupting," he replied. "Have you heard the good news?"

Galadriel blinked. She did not think anything of what she had just heard could be considered good news.

"No, our dear Aunt distracted me with her own, disturbing ones," Artanáro explained.

"I might have known that something else would turn up to spoil our day," Elrond said with a sigh, and went directly for his bowl with dried fruit. "Apricot?" He asked.

"Only if you had a real one," Artanáro replied, and then explained: "Amdír wants to join his forces with Oropher."

Elrond was about as enthusiastic about the prospect as the other two in the room, but there was not much more to be said on the topic, so after a brief summary, Galadriel asked: "So what is the good news?"

"Well," Elrond said once he finished chewing his fourth dried apricot, "it seems that the eldest son of the King's Heir in Númenórë found a woman he fell in love with. A woman who, as it happens, is the niece of the Lord of Andúnië, a good and wise lady by the name of Quettalótë. They are likely to marry, though it is not quite official yet."

"So does this mean a wise man was born in the line of kings once again?"

Artanáro sighed. "Not quite."

"Then...why would this good and wise lady, as you say, agree to marry him?"

"Because she realizes that as a Queen, she has a chance to help the realm, to steer it in a better direction. She...she is keeping her true sympathies secret from her husband to be, as I understand it, because she knows it could mean end to their romance. He only knows her under her Anduniac name."

Galadriel gave him a very long look. "So your good news from Númenórë, if I understand you correctly, is that a young, wise and good lady will marry a man she neither loves nor respects, and who she will have to lie to every day, in a desperate attempt to save her realm?"

Artanáro grimaced. "When you say it like this, it sounds horrible," he admitted. "But it is a kind of hope. You know it has been getting worse at a rate like never before."

"Yes, I know. And make no mistake, what Lady Quettalótë is doing is deeply admirable. A heroic sacrifice. But it is not good news. If anything, it is a testament to how deep Númenórë has fallen, that we can contemplate regarding such a thing as good news."

Elrond looked ashamed of himself. "You are right. I suppose I was too carried away by hope..." He sighed. "This is why I need you close by, always. I need your advice."

"We all need advice," she returned. Giving another blow to his self-esteem had not been her intention. "But you can do without me perfectly well when you need to. And you will, soon. In spite of my assurances to Celeborn, the roads _are_ getting more and more dangerous, and the time is approaching when it will be impossible for me to come here."

"I hope that we will march to war before that happens," Artanáro interjected here.

"I would not be so sure. There are many things left to arrange still. You need to speak with Amdír, and preferably try to convince Oropher that he needs to have at least some degree of armour. We cannot simply let his people die for his folly."

"But what else can we do?" Artanáro asked. "He is their king."

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"Mother?" Celebrían said softly, sticking her head into Galadriel's chambers.

"Yes?" Galadriel raised her head from the military records she was looking over. She was surprised by Celebrían's presence: she had just delivered a letter from Elrond, and usually, in such cases, Celebrían spent a long time alone with it.

"Do you remember...you said, once, that you wished I would paint your portrait. Is it still true?"

"That was a long time ago. But yes, of course it is still true."

"Well...would you like me to, then? The light is good now. There is full moon and the sky is clear."

Galadriel had many reports to read through and a summary to write and a thousand and one other small jobs that waited for her, but at the same time, she knew – she had enough premonition left in her for that – she could not refuse Celebrían now, and so she rose and smiled.

"Very well, then," she said, "where?"

"That should, I think, be obvious. By your Mirror, of course."

Galadriel had to admit that it was, indeed, rather obvious.

Celebrían had her sit on the edge of the fountain as she prepared all she needed to work.

"Do I remember the rules correctly?" The older lady asked with a smile. "No moving, no shifting, and in fact, ideally, no speaking?"

"It is not as bad as all that. I would certainly appreciate it if you did not move, but as for speaking, that only applies when I am painting your mouth. I will let you know."

"Do you still have Avorneth's portrait, or does she?"

Celebrían smiled. "She gave it to Ealc."

That made Galadriel wonder. "I cannot quite imagine Ealc decorating her talan with paintings."

"No. She, naturally, commented what a self-indulgent idea it was to have someone spend hours by painting you in such detail when you had the person in memory and could recall their face at any time you wanted...but, I noticed, she kept the portrait and it hangs in her study."

Galadriel smiled. "I fear Ealc is assimilating into the Eldar culture more than she thinks."

Celebrían looked at her intently for a moment, trying to capture some unknown detail, then turned her attention back to her work. "Well, it is only fair," she said. "I mean, they had a Silvan wedding, they live in a talan, most of their free time is spent attending some competition or other..."

"Are you bitter about that?" Galadriel asked curiously.

"Bitter? Oh no. Except perhaps that travelling for the competitions takes Avorneth out of the capital more often than I would like." She frowned at something in her frame. "But then, I will move out of Lindórinand entirely after my marriage, so I can hardly complain."

"What does Ealc compete in?" Galadriel asked after a short pause. "I mean, I know she sings..."

"That goes without saying. I believe you can never amount to anything among the Silvan unless you can sing."

"That certainly reminds me of the Noldor in Aman and all forms of craft."

"How did you cope with that?" Celebrían asked evenly, and Galadriel had to laugh at the brutal honesty of her daughter, who gave her a chiding look for moving her head as she did so.

"Back then," she said, "I believed that those who would not appreciate me – even admire me – for the character traits I had were not worthy of my attention."

Celebrían looked like she wanted to comment on that, but then she shook her head and turned to her painting instead. Galadriel judged it was probably for the best. There were such things as being too honest, and every time she looked at Celebrían, she found herself wanting, for various reasons. She did not need it outright confirmed.

"Ealc has a beautiful voice," Celebrían observed. "Have you heard her?"

"I have, at the wedding."

"You should sing together sometimes, though I suppose you would find it difficult to agree on a song. But, anyway, apart from singing, she also does stage improvisation and dancing-"

"Does Avorneth compete with her, then?" Galadriel did not think that would be much to Avorneth's taste.

"Oh no. Have you never seen a Silvan dancing competition? They do not usually dance in pairs, or even in groups. It is individual performance."

"Individual dancing?" Whoever heard of such a thing?

"Yes. It is quite incredible. You should ask Avorneth for dates and go sometimes. Then Ealc often participates in different athletics competitions, too. From what I know, she is not an exceptionally good fighter, so she mostly keeps out of those."

"I thought the Noldor liked their competitions – especially in Aman, where there was little else to do, we had many of them and both the Vanyar and especially the Teleri never seemed to quite understand what we found so interesting about it – but compared to the Silvan..."

Celebrían only nodded, concentrating on her painting. There was a surprisingly companionable silence, interrupted when Galadriel felt Avorneth, of all people, touch her mind.

"Avorneth is coming here looking for me," she said. "Would you mind if she joined us for a time?"

"Of course not. You must know I never mind her company."

That was not what Galadriel had meant. Private time with her daughter was rare, and as much as she liked seeing Avorneth as well, she would have preferred not to just now. On the other hand, if she came all the way here to look for her, it might be important.

"Good evening," the lady said when she arrived. "I did not expect to find you here, beloved," she added to Celebrían, "but of course, a portrait explains it."

"I hear Ealc was quite appreciative of the one of you?" Galadriel noted.

Avorneth laughed. "Not that she would admit it publicly, but yes."

"So, did you need something?"

"Well, I made a new discovery in my study of the rings. I came to share it with you. It is not urgent, so if I am disturbing you..."

Galadriel shot a fleeting look at Celebrían, who said: "No, by all means, speak – unless, of course, it is a secret."

"Not truly, no." Avorneth sat down in the grass nest to Celebrían. "It is only that I discovered...well, if I understand it correctly, Father hoped that the Three Rings could be used after Sauron was defeated?"

"That is what he told me," Galadriel replied.

Avorneth sighed. "It is impossible. If the One Ring is destroyed – and you know, I already told you, that it must be destroyed if Sauron is to be defeated once and for all – the power of the Three will disappear, or at the very least diminish very greatly."

"But how…? Your father said Sauron's hand never touched them."

Avorneth only gave her a look, and Galadriel put up her hands. "Very well, I will not ask for technical explanations. We managed without the rings until now, we will certainly manage after Sauron falls. It is a pity Tyelperinquar's greatest inventions will never be put to use, but..." She shook her head. There ere more things to regret about Tyelperinquar's life, and she did not wish to be depicted in her daughter's picture thinking about them. She needed a more cheerful topic. "We were just talking about your wife," she told Avorneth. "I was thinking how surprising it was she finds time for this many competitions with the war approaching. She is the most important representative of the Silvan on the council. She has much work."

"Ah, but do you not see?" Avorneth replied. "The war is precisely why she must go to all these competitions. She has to keep her support."

"Keep her support?" Galadriel did not understand.

"Well, you know the Silvan do not have lords and ladies. She cannot count on it as her natural due."

"Yes, but they elected her-"

"Ah, yes, but at any time, they can gather and elect someone else, if they decide she is no longer fit for the role."

"And how precisely does winning a singing competition assure them that she is?" It still did not make any sense to Galadriel.

"Well, she can hardly go and explain her decisions in the council to every person in the realm, can she?" Avorneth pointed out. "They would not listen anyway," she added. "As the Silvan say, the whole point of the councils, the only reason they exist, is that most people do not have to worry about the bothersome details of realm defence and such. Winning competitions...it assures them she is still capable. That she can prepare for something and do it well, whatever that is."

That seemed exceedingly irresponsible to Galadriel. "If it was something that related to governing at least a little..." She began.

"And what would that be, arguing for points?" Avorneth asked archly. "Frankly, it is not a bad system, in my opinion. Not completely. Certainly it sounds strange to us, and when I first heard about it, I was very doubtful, but...conversations with Ealc made me question many things. I mean, we choose the ruler on the virtue of their birth. Singing competitions seem reasonable in comparison."

"I think you are being a little unfair. The idea behind kingship, as you know, is that for one, a good king passes some of his good character traits to his son, and then also he is raised and prepared for kingship since childhood. That is why we believe this system works."

"Oh, yes, of course," Celebrían remarked from her painting. "The case of Númenórë, where I believe they recently prohibited the teaching of Elvish languages, is an excellent example of that."

"Númenórë's rulers became worse precisely because they did not have good education, and later, not even good kingship qualities to inherit," Galadriel argued.

"Mother, please. Everyone in your life always seemed to agree that you would be the best ruler, and yet you were the fourth child of a third son. The first son was, as I believe you will hardly dispute, about the worst king that could have ever happened to the Noldor."

"Because his father was not a good king in the first place. There were no good traits to inherit, and no good education to have. That was what went wrong with the Noldorin kingship, that the first choice was wrong. Thankfully, the influence of grandmother Indis made it much better than it could have been."

"But do you not see the problem?" Avorneth took the word again. "You make one bad choice, and then you cannot be free from it. With the Silvan, one gathering of people would have been enough."

"It was a gathering of people who decided to follow Feanáro into Middle-Earth," Galadriel reminded her. "Do not give them too much faith."

"It was also the same people who chose Nolofinwe over him, when it came down to it," Avorneth countered.

"Yes, when it became clear how little Feanáro cared for them. He was not even trying." Galadriel sighed. "Look, I do not believe that the right of king's eldest son is divine and untouchable. That is the Sindarin view. I even agree that the idea of election is not entirely misguided – if, say, people choose a king among the king's children or relatives. It is not so far from how the Noldor actually worked at one point, and it seems reasonable. But the world the Silvan live in...it has no stability. You can see it with Ealc, instead of doing what she need to, preparing for the war she needs to travel around the land and compete in singing competitions."

"That is a downside, and I realize it. So does Ealc, in fact. She is not blind to the fault of their society. But look at the evil Finwë, Singollo or Orodreth did, as bad kings, and tell me you can be certain that it is not greater than any such unstable system would bring."

Galadriel could not. She simply did not know.

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AN: Quettalótë is, of course, Inzilbêth. It's my attempt to translate her name into Quenya, since I believe that would be her first tongue and the language in which she was named.


	67. Underhanded

**Chapter 67: Underhanded**

 _Year 3130 of the Second Age, Lindórinand_

„Well," Galadriel said, reading a letter from Elrond delivered by one of the messengers who still rode – at great personal risk – between Lindórinand and Rivendell, „it seems that our hopes about Númenor, bittersweet as they were, have come to fruition."

Celebrían, who was reading a letter of her own, sighed. "Isn't it cruel irony that it'd come precisely at a time when it's too dangerous for Elrond to go there? He'd dearly love to meet Prince Palantír, I know he would."

"Fate is full of these ironies, beloved."

Celeborn gave them both a tired look. "Will one of you please tell me what happened?"

"Forgive me, my love," Galadriel said immediately, touching his hand lightly. "You remember my surprise and mixed feelings when I told you that the king – King's Heir, then – was marrying a daughter of Andúnië?"

"Yes." He frowned, trying to remember. "She was a niece to the Lord, wasn't she?"

"Indeed. Well, I told you, then, about her hope – and ours – that she'd have positive influence on the future king. It now seems it's come to pass. From what Elrond writes, Prince Palantír is steadily, though not very overtly, showing support for the Faithful of Andúnië, and undermines his father's hateful policies wherever he can." Still, Galadriel could not stop thinking about the personal sacrifice of Princess Quettalóttë, about the kind of marriage she had to suffer.

"Was not the last news we received that elven visits were prohibited on the island?" Celeborn asked sceptically. "He doesn't seem to be too successful in his effort."

"Ah, but see, according to our information, that's what made him speak about his disagreement with his father more openly. He's gone too far, or that's what Palantír said." She fell silent as she continued reading the letter, tilting it to make the light of the moon reflect better. These days, all their letters were written in ithildin, to make it more difficult for their enemies to read. They were also in code, or rather, the parts containing important strategic information were.

"There are more interesting news," she added after a moment. "Prince Palantír is apparently close friends with Númendil, the current Lord of Andúnië, and even more so with Númendil's son Amandil. Quettalótë took care to arrange it so that he spent a large part of his childhood in Andúnië, and he gained friends for life there."

"I'm surprised the King allowed it," Celeborn remarked.

"So am I, but then, from what I understand, he isn't very wise. It mustn't have been hard to manipulate him, especially if he truly loves his wife." And again, Galadriel's stomach rolled at the idea of this sort of marriage. Then she thought of Irissë, and of Midhel. There were worse sorts.

"In any case," she continued, not wishing to think of that, "that friendship proved very fruitful. Elrond writes that together with Amandil, Prince Palantír arranged for a way to meet elves in secret without technically breaking the king's orders."

That caught Celeborn's interest. "Truly? How?"

"There's a ship anchored a distance from the shores of Númenor, it seems. But that isn't the most important part, though it's certainly good for the people of the island, supporting their hope and faith by giving them an opportunity to see the Light of the West, even only reflected in the Eldar. But what's even more crucial is that even my father clearly got tired of the ban of the Valar as regards interacting with Middle-Earth."

Celeborn blinked, looking almost afraid. "Your father, my love? Did he come...come to Númenor?"

That would have made her truly desperate, and perhaps foolish enough to attempt a journey to Númenórë. Celeborn knew that. Galadriel hastened to reassure him: "Oh no, nothing quite as radical as that. But he sent some gifts."

"Mother, are you being cryptic on purpose?" Celebrían asked, exasperated. "Elrond wrote me nothing of this."

"Well, he doesn't know they're my father's gifts," Galadriel explained. "He mentions the Seeing Stones, doesn't he?"

"Yes," Celebrían admitted. "What do they have to do with your father?"

"Feanor made them," her mother replied, casting her mind back to those times that had still been blissful for most, though not for her, not entirely. And not for her half-Uncle. "He always felt the Valar could control what they showed, however, and so didn't entirely trust them towards the end. He left them in Tirion when he went to Formenos, and he left them there when he went to Middle-Earth, too. Father would have inherited them and been in charge of them – well, him or Aunt Nerdanel, but I very much doubt she'd want to have anything to do with them. She left everything of Feanor's behind when she left him." She thought of that sort of marriage, too, about how far one must go to drive someone bound to them by the Flame away. Not that she ever doubted Nerdanel had been in the right. More, she tended to regard this as an early sign of how far Feanor had fallen, a sign they had all failed to take seriously enough, in spite of how unusual it was. Spouses did not simply leave each other in Aman. "From what I read in this letter, Father sent some of the Stones to Amandil as a gift," she continued, "to have a link to the West, to support the Faithful in their loyalty. It makes me wonder...has someone come back from the Halls of Mandos? Or has Idril, perhaps, convinced him?"

"You think he himself wouldn't do this?" Celebrían asked with a degree of curiosity.

"I doubt it. He'd dearly wish he could do something, I'm sure, but he'd need the impetus to act from somewhere else. He used to have his brother for that, now...who knows." She shook her head. "I feel like when Tindómiel tried not to speculate about Númenorean politics to keep herself apart. But, in any case, this is all very good news. It seems Númenor could be some help in the war after all...and if so, we don't have to worry about our victory."

"From what Elrond writes, it doesn't seem Prince Palantír is very military minded," Celebrían pointed out.

"No," Galadriel agreed, "but he'll answer if we call to him in need, and besides, war would be something for his people to do, to direct their anger towards, apart from the West. It's tragic that it came to that in Númenor, but we have to work with what we have."

"And the Seeing Stones? Will they influence things?" Celeborn asked.

"They were given as gifts to strengthen in despair, so when Prince Palantír becomes king, if he manages to change the direction his country is headed, they won't be needed any more." Galadriel sighed. "I wish we had taken them wish us when we were leaving Aman. So many things would have been easier...but then, it was all so quick. None of us, I think, were thinking clearly."

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"How does possible involvement of Númenor change our war plans?" Amdír asked Galadriel at their next private meeting, when she gave him the news.

"Significantly," she replied. "Your and Oropher's troops will be relegated to the back."

He frowned. "Why?"

She sighed. "You know you have the weakest fighters, and there'll be hardly any armour." They had been unable to convince Oropher to accept more than the lightest smattering. "You're most at risk. The Men of Númenor are hardy and will be well-equipped. We know that from the last war."

"Oropher might not wish to fight behind the Second born," Amdír pointed out.

"Oropher doesn't wish to fight behind anyone, and with anyone!" Galadriel retorted. "This is no way to lead a war. I'd say that he's welcome to throw away his life, but there are his people to consider, and so this is not up for discussion. If there's some way to protect them from the effect of his ridiculous decisions, we'll take it."

"Ultimately, this will be up to him," he reminded her.

"And you," she returned. "You're commanding the troops jointly."

"Well..." He looked uncomfortable.

"Well what? Amdír!"

"You know how it is. I told you. He formally allowed me to use the title of king after long arguments, and he never tried to claim High Kingship for fear of Celeborn contesting it – or Elrond, even – but in practice, he's always seen himself as such. He always saw me as his vassal. The moment we join the troops, he'll command."

"And you agreed to that?" Galadriel had known Oropher would expect it, of course, but she had thought Amdír had taken precautions. "I keep learning things about this combining of troops-"

"It was the only way to make him agree to take part in the war!" He told her, exasperated. This has been his argument for centuries now, explaining away his willingness to accede to every outrageous demand Oropher threw his way, and Galadriel was growing tired of it.

"Amdír, I've lived here for almost two millennia. These are my people now too, not only yours. I can't let them die this easily."

"What would you have me do, then?"

"Whatever you can to save your people."

"Shouldn't we march, is that your advice?" He asked sarcastically.

"That wouldn't save them," she pointed out. "If we lose the war, Gorthaur'll come for all of us."

"Then what? I know this isn't perfect, I hardly need you to tell me that, but I need a viable solution."

Galadriel looked at him for a long moment, not saying anything. This argument reminded her of something, of some discussion she had already had with him…After a moment, it came to her. "Do the Silvan know they'll be commanded by someone other than you?" She asked shrewdly.

He stayed silent.

Galadriel closed her eyes. So here they were. "So you're back to using the Silvan, aren't you?" She said mockingly. "You know they'd never agree if they knew."

"Are you going to tell them?" He asked archly.

"No," Galadriel replied with a heavy heart. If she told them now, the whole war effort would fall apart. She knew it, and Amdír knew she knew it, and was relying on it.

However, she was not the one who mattered in this, when it came down to it. Surely Amdír had to realize that. "You need to arrange something with Oropher, otherwise the Silvan will abandon you on the battlefield," she told him with emphasis.

He frowned at that. "They wouldn't do that," he insisted.

"So many years with them," Galadriel replied, "so much insistence on your experience with governance, and you still seem to understand them so little. You'd lose whatever legitimacy you might have as their ruler if you did that. Why should they follow you?"

"Because on the battlefield, I'd be the best hope they had," he replied.

It was ruthless, but accurate. That did not mean it would work.

"So that's what you're relying on? I won't even say anything about how immoral it is, because it wouldn't go as you imagine at all. The principle of the thing would be enough to turn large numbers of the Silvan against you. Yes, they'd probably pay for it with their lives, but that wouldn't help you any." She shook her head. "You said you needed a viable solution. Well, let me tell you, this isn't it."

Amdír opened his mouth to speak, then closed it again and was silent for a while. "Perhaps," he said eventually, "but you still haven't presented me with a better one."

"I don't have it. But you say you're more capable then I give you credit for, so surely you don't need my help?" Galadriel was being a little unfair, she knew – this was a difficult situation – but she was angry with his, and did not think he deserved too much sympathy in that respect.

"You mightn't like my solution," Amdír replied.

"It's hardly going to be worse than this one," Galadriel retorted.

By the expression on this face, she worried a little that he took it as a challenge.

She left the royal house after this, but she was upset by the development, and too disturbed to just return to her duties. Instead, she went in search of Amroth to consult with him. After all, if Amdír was right and he would fall in the war, it was time to get in the habit of consulting politics with his son.

She found him on the shooting range near the capital, taking care of his bow and other equipment, and as he was alone, she did not take long to get to the reason she came.

"Do you agree with your father?" She asked after outlining the problem.

"No," Amroth replied, checking the fletching of his arrows, "but then, what do I know of this? I'm no commander."

"Neither is he." Galadriel sat down on a small stool and watched Amroth work.

"Perhaps that's why he gives command over to Oropher?" He suggested.

Galadriel scoffed. "Oropher is no commander either."

"Well, yes. But then at least it's not Father's responsibility any more, is it?" Amroth pointed out, putting the arrow down and taking another.

The Nolde gave him a worried look. "Would that be your approach?"

"If I ever had to command my people into battle? Yes." He shrugged. "Of course, I wouldn't choose Oropher exactly, but I'd certainly try and hand the command over to someone else. Rodnor, most likely."

"And do you believe the Sindar and Silvan would follow Rodnor?" That was important to know, and he had better insight into the Sindar of Lindórinand than she did, and for a Sinda, he even had quite a good knowledge of the Silvan. Certainly better than his father, whatever Amdír might claim.

"Most Sindar have nothing against Rodnor, and they respect him," Amroth replied, frowning at something he saw in the feathers of his arrow. "As for the Silvan, well, they barely even follow my father, in spite of his numerous efforts. I don't think it would make that much difference."

Galadriel frowned at the mention of numerous efforts, since she found them quite lacking, but she let it go to concentrate on the more immediate problem. "That's where I believe you're wrong. Your father won their support, at least to a degree. They only ever saw Rodnor once, at Ealc's wedding, and they wouldn't listen to him just because your father told them to."

Amroth shrugged. "Perhaps Ealc could convince them, then? He's her grandfather-in-law, after all."

Galadriel was doubtful. "I'm not certain she puts much stock in such things. But you can certainly try to ask her. What I'd like even more, though, is for you to speak to your father and express your disagreement about the matter with Oropher."

Amroth, however, shook his head. "My father has enough to deal with already."

Galadriel was steadily approaching exasperation. "At least talk to him about the armour!" She insisted. "This is a waste of elven life!"

He considered. "Yes," he agreed then, "I can try to do that. I can't promise it'll be effective, however. My father, I believe, is too tired to fight Oropher too much."

Are not we all, Galadriel though. She was so tired of everything sometimes, and when she only went to bed just before the Sun rose, overwhelmed with war planning, she longed for the peace of Lórien or Doriath so much it was almost painful. Or at least the soothing presence of The Eldest. Something, something to relieve her, something she had to do without for a millennium and a half now.

But such thoughts were not fruitful, and it would get better after the War was finally over. The first millennium of this Age had been good, she reminded herself, even without any sort of quiet haven. It will be good again. It felt like they had been preparing for the war forever, and it had been a very long time indeed, but it had not been always, and it would not last forever. She just needed to keep reminding herself of that.

"Just...try," she told Amroth. "We're almost at the end. Try to help him find some remaining strength. It could save lives."

Amroth only mutely nodded.

Galadriel returned to her house after this talk, to work on some other aspects of war strategy a little more. The placement of those who still remembered Aman was the most crucial issue. They had to be the ones who would take Sauron down in the final fight, but what did that mean for the overall tactics?

Should she place them all in one unit, somewhere where they would be most likely to intercept him, or should she provide for eventualities and scatter them around the battlefield, and hope that once Sauron appeared, they would be able to get to him in time?

There was also the matter of the Ringwraiths, who would no doubt take part. They were difficult to fight for those who have never been to Aman, and Sauron would most certainly use them. At least someone from the West had to be in each contingent, she decided. But there should also be a greater gathering in the most crucial place.

Of course, that raised another problem of convincing Oropher to accept someone from the West among his troops. Or, alternatively, to keep him afar away enough that neither Sauron nor the Ringwraiths would reach him. With Númenórë taking part, it should not be impossible.

She sighed, and thought of the eve of the Battle of Unnumbered Tears, of all those armies gathered in the passes of the mountains as they waited to attack. How they all believed in victory...and how tragically it ended.

What could she do to prevent such fate befalling them, too?

There should be no danger of a betrayal, at least – neither elves nor men of Númenórë, not even in this fallen state, would side with Sauron. Not unless they had been right about one of the rings being there. But it did not seem so – she could not imagine Prince Palantír flourishing if it was so. So they should be safe from traitors.

Preventing something like what had happened with Gwindor, though, would be harder.

Sauron managed to take elves captive less often than the Enemy had, of course, but still. She could never be sure there would not be someone beloved to be taunted with. She would try to help, keep everyone calm with her mind, of course...but she would also need to pray.

-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-

"I believe," Galadriel told Avorneth as they walked together towards the Noldorin city, "that it might finally be time to go speak to Hadhodrond about their involvement in the war in more particular terms. I will need your help."

Avorneth looked at her in surprise. "I thought the alliance was assured?"

"In a way, it is," Galadriel explained. "There has not been a king opposed to fighting Sauron on principle since the times of King Veig, thank the One. But that does not mean they agreed to our particular war plans. It was useless to go to them before now – they do not live long enough for long-term war planning to make sense. But now...even if we do not manage to march to war within King Onar's lifetime, it will be in the lifetime of his son and heir, who will be present at any meeting I have with them. It is time."

Avorneth plucked a niphredil off the ground and examined it for a moment before putting it in her hair and asking: "And you believe they would not listen to just you, without me?"

Galadriel put a hand on Avorneth's shoulder to stop her and rearranged the flower to sit better, saying: "I believe you will help my case. The more people march on our side in this war, the more overwhelming can our victory be, and that means less lives loss. Any help I can get will be welcome."

Avorneth thanked her with a nod for her assistance, checking her reflection in a stream. They walked on, and she said: "Naturally, I will go with you if you think it wise, but let me tell you that I believe they would march even without it."

"Probably, yes. But it is not just about the bare agreement," Galadriel explained. "It is also about arranging a functional command structure and so on. As I said, I will need all the help I can get." She paused. "Also, please do not tell others about this. It is yet another thing we need to keep from Oropher, who would never agree to march alongside the dwarves. Especially if he knew those descended of Nogrod were present."

Avorneth frowned. "Then I better not tell Ealc. She disapproves of this kind of tricks."

Galadriel grimaced. "I do not wish to come between you..."

"No, I understand why it is necessary. It is not as if you enjoy it. I understand Oropher's stubbornness is at fault. But Ealc...I think it reminds her too much of the tricks Amdír played on them to be comfortable."

And the trick he was still playing even now. That comparison was making Galadriel uncomfortable. Was she tricking the Greenwood elves in the same way? If she could, she would gladly talk to them all and allow them to decide on their own. If she believed they would all refuse to fight alongside the dwarves, she would not do this, as much as she thought such approach was misguided. But it was only Oropher and the few closest to him, and they decided all. In such a situation, she could not help feeling that what she was doing was justifiable.

She wondered whether she, too, was being slowly influenced by the Silvan way of thinking, seeing that she would have preferred to deal with the people directly, without a king. But then, if the king was like Oropher, there was no question that another form or governance was preferable.

Which, she realized, was precisely the point Avorneth had made when they discussed this.

She sighed. She could not believe kingship would be so wrong after all.

Avorneth touched her mind hesitantly.

"I am sorry," Galadriel said. "I was lost in thought. But...do you not think Ealc's problem with this secrecy is chiefly that she is naturally a very honest person?"

"She certainly is that, but she is also a lifelong politician. She understands some degree of underhandedness. Just not in this form."

Galadriel had personally never witnessed Ealc's brand of politics include any sort of underhandedness, but she supposed Avorneth knew these things better.

Their discussion was cut short as they entered the city, since it was not one for the public ear. Instead, they hastened to Feliel's house. The lady welcomed them warmly, as always. "Lady Avorneth!" She said in surprise. "I did not expect to see you as well. Are you here to consult some matter of crafting?"

"Indeed."

"I will call Túron presently, but first, allow me to extend an invitation to your wife – and you as well, of course, if you are interested – to an archery contest we will be holding in three turns of the moon. We would dearly love to see Ealc compete."

Avorneth smiled, pleased. "Archery is not her strongest suit, but I will ask her, and see what she thinks. Certainly we can come to watch at least."

"You organize archery contests now?" Galadriel asked, surprised. It was not a typically Noldorin pastime, and especially this close to war, she would expect Feliel to be busy with other things.

The lady shrugged. "Ealc talks about them constantly, and I was thinking, it is a good way to prepare for the war in a somewhat more light-hearted spirit. Do you not approve, my lady?"

"No, no, I do. I was merely surprised." It seemed not even the Noldorin city was immune from the Silvan influence.

"People seem to enjoy the idea." By the smile on her face, Galadriel judged Feliel enjoyed it as well. "We will probably have a sword-fighting competition after that, in a similar spirit. I thought we could replace the usual decennial athletics contests with these."

"Replace?" Galadriel frowned. "But surely, athletics are a good way to prepare for war as well..."

Feliel shrugged. "That is true, but competing in fighting directly is surely better."

"But there is no need to choose, is there?" Galadriel asked. "Hold the fighting and archery contests in the middle of the ten year period for the athletic ones. I do not believe anyone would protest, would they?"

Felile hesitated. "I did consider this," she said, "but I feared that could take away too much time from our more straightforward war preparations. For me, at least, it is always much work to arrange such things, and Aseanettë inevitably ends up overwhelmed."

"If you want," Avorneth interjected, "I am sure Ealc could recommend you someone from the Silvan circles who has much experience with organizing these competitions, and you could delegate some of your work to them."

Felile beamed at the suggestion. "Oh, that would be excellent! Only..." She seemed embarrassed. "They would have to speak Sindarin. I am afraid my Silvan is not very advanced."

Avorneth laughed at that. "Do not worry, neither is mine. It is a devious language. I will tell Ealc to recommend some of the younger Silvan – they all speak Sindarin now."

"I would be immensely grateful, my lady."

It was good, Galadriel mused, that here were still bright points to be found even to preparing for war.


	68. Astonishment

**Chapter 68: Astonishment**

 _Year 3260 of the Second Age, Lindórinand_

When Amdír called Galadriel into his house one evening, she entered with an impatient question on her lips. "So," she said, "will you finally tell me the story of your departure from Greenwood?"

"Yes," he replied simply, catching her entirely off balance.

"...very well then," she said, thrown and showing it, and sat down in a chair next to his.

He was not looking at her, sipping from his cup of wine, as he began to talk.

"You once wondered," he said, "how I could have left Greenwood when we, as Sindar, are bound by much stricter obedience to the king than you Noldor are. It was certainly not easy. Not that I ever regarded Oropher's authority very strongly. Thingol was my king, for better or worse, and then Dior, to whom I felt it was my duty to help. Oropher...he was only third in the line of succession, and when we lived in New Havens, it'd never have occurred to me that he'd declare himself king. We were both struggling with our losses there, heavy with despair. I'm still surprised he had not faded then. It was for Thranduil that he stayed, I know. I wasn't in any state to help him then, and by the time I was starting to get a little better, towards the end of the war, he fully immersed himself in his command duties and had no desire to talk about what burdened him. I could see it hanging over him like a black cloud, a cloud that got darker when Thranduil was injured. I welcomed Lindon as a new light, a new chance. If we didn't die in the war, I thought, then perhaps this is our reward, our chance to live in peace.

"Oropher, of course, didn't think so. He resented everything about the kingdom, and he was determined to leave. That was when my weakness showed."

He sounded bleak, and Galadriel wanted to reassure him. "It's hardly weakness to want to accompany your friend," she said.

Amdír scoffed. "Not if I'd done it purely out of selflessness. But that wasn't the case. You see, Oropher did more than just besmirch your honour when he tried to convince us to leave with him. He also played to our pride, and with no one did it work better than with me. 'We were esteemed members of council in Doriath,' he'd say, 'and important lords. Here, we're nothing.'"

Galadriel gave him a look. She was surprised to hear this. Back in Doriath, she never had the impression that he was particularly ambitious. But then, it would not be surprising if the tragedies that came later changed him. She kept those thoughts to herself, and only said: "Had we not suspected the strange madness of Oropher has gripped you too, we'd have offered you a place in the council in Lindon, most likely."

He laughed, a short, barking laugh. "One of the ironies of my life, then. But, anyway, Oropher dangled prestige in front of me as bait, and as much as I'd like to believe it played no part in my decision to leave, it did. Yes, I went because Oropher was my friend and younger cousin, and I felt he needed my help. But I also went because I resented you, and because I wanted to be important somewhere."

He sounded so ashamed of himself as he spoke, and Galadriel wondered what he would think of her own desire to leave a place because of her ambitions, those millennia ago. He, of course, did not know the story, and so he did not realize how familiar the tale he was telling was to her. "Lindon is not Aman," she told him softly, but with emphasis. "It is not a mortal sin to simply leave it. Nothing you said so far is particularly deserving of judgement."

"No," he agreed, "that only comes later." He sighed. "Look, I don't need absolution from you, and I'm not telling you this story to receive it. I'm telling it because you need to know, and I don't enjoy doing it, so just...let me talk."

She only nodded, and he paused for a moment, sipping his wine. Then he began to speak again: "The doubts I pushed away started to assault me even on the journey East already. Without being so focused on evaluating Oropher's proposition to leave, I was freer to observe him, and I realized fully that he wasn't fit to be king. But I told myself that it only meant he'd need my help more."

That, finally, was one thing not familiar to Galadriel. She had never in her life been thankful for a bad king, for she knew they tended to be resistant to advice. But Amdít had not yet had that experience then.

He continued: "We came to Greenwood, and I saw the reality of it. His ruling, in the beginning, was completely erratic. He had...trouble accepting the realities of the Silvan way of life. One day he wanted to ban all Silvan customs, another he wished to adopt them. I stood by his side and smoothed things over, day by day. I reminded him he could anger neither the Silvan, nor the Sindar. That he had to walk the middle way. It was exhausting. After about thirty years of this, he seemed to emerge from that madness, and he declared that we'd adopt Silvan customs in everything but kingship, which will be understood in the Sindarin manner. He was decided, and I could do nothing to move him."

Amdír took another sip of his wine, and stared out of the window in silence for a moment before he added: "To this day, I don't know what happened that led him to this decision. What he told his people was that he realized this must be the natural state of elves before the Noldor and Valar spoiled it, but I don't know if it's truly what he believes. Certainly he angered many of his Sindarin subjects by this."

So far, Galadriel had not learned anything new, except for the erratic years in the beginning of Oropher's reign, and she probably could have guessed those. But Amdír's tone suggested there was more to come, and he continued: "I wasn't happy with the decision either. I didn't mind the Silvan custom – though I wasn't thrilled by it, not because of any particular objection but because it wasn't ours – but what I minded more were the Silvan advisers. Oropher had more and more of them, and listened to my advice less and less. And it was, to the best of my knowledge, not good advice. Not because they weren't good, but because they had no experience with ruling such a vast realm as Greenwood was, and no idea about politics between different realms. Oropher started to neglect the second, and the first, he did badly. Nothing I did or said helped. I could also see how he nursed his grievances against the Noldor, how they were slowly becoming the focus of his life, his main tie to his past. That was the only thing he still wanted my cooperation in, remembering the wrongs you supposedly did us. After a few decades of this, I decided that I had to leave. And this, see, is where the tale grows reprehensible. Because this is where I decided to use his own weapons against him."

Galadriel immediately thought of the rumours Oropher spread about her in New Havens. Did Amdír do something like this?

He downed the rest of his cup, and pouring himself more, continued. "There were about three noble Sindarin families who thought much like me. They were worried about the bad decisions the king was making, and about his dark moods. Many more, however, were resentful of the Silvan spirit of the realm. I made full use of that. I chose those most resentful, and I fed their discontent, and made the downsides seem worse and the upsides less bright. Just as Oropher had fed my dislike of you, so I fed their dislike of him. I reminded them that he wasn't truly their king, he wasn't the closest descendant of Thingol. I told myself, all the while, that it was for the best, that I was aving as many people as I could from his doomed rule, but I know today that it wasn't true, or not entirely. I also detested the fact that my younger, unfit cousin was king and I wasn't."

He sighed. "I went to him as a loyal friend, to tell him there was a risk of civil war in his realm and that the best thing to do, surely, would to take these rebellious elves away to found a separate branch of his realm, where they'd bother no one. I heroically offered to arrange this. The Silvan advisers were to my advantage in this. Among the Silvan, there wouldn't even be a question about this: if someone wanted to found a separate settlement, they simply went. So that was what they advised Oropher, and in the end, he agreed."

He tilted his head back to look in the branches of the majestic oak that stood in the centre of his house. He seemed lighter, now that he told the gist of the story. Galadriel for her part, was beginning to understand why he was so willing to accede to every demand of Oropher, however outrageous. Guilt, she knew, was a powerful motivator.

There was a short silence, then he said: "I reaped what I sowed, of course. I convinced most of the Sindar to leave with resentment, and the resentment lived in them even after we came here. I had little authority, and had to deal with constant ill will against the Silvan. That's why I had to institute the complete separation of our world that still ruled here when you first came. In the end, it was also what made Oropher grant me kingship, but that took another century or two."

Amdír looked at her almost challengingly now, daring her to comment. Galadriel knew he could read her opinion in her mind, so there was no point in trying to mask it.

In truth, she felt torn about what she had heard. She understood Amdír intimately, she had experienced all those things – living under an unworthy king, desperately wishing to leave – in her life. She knew why he did what he did, none better. And yet...to sink to deceit and what was, in effect, betrayal of a friend...not because he wanted to leave, but because he pretended to have nothing in common with the initiative to do so...she could not condone that.

She decided to postpone her judgement until she heard all. "I understand the separation," she said, "but how did you convince the Silvan to let you rule them?"

He grimaced. "Much like I convinced Oropher to let me go – with a lot of deceit."

Galadriel wanted to ask for details, but he raised his hand. "If I'm ashamed of what I did to Oropher, there are no words for how I feel about the Silvan. Don't ask me about it. You have a very good idea what I did, don't lie to yourself, and I have no wish to speak of it."

She looked at him carefully. He truly was ashamed, she saw that, but he was clearly in no mood for penance, and only told her about this because he had to. He had no interest in listening to her berating him, and it would fall on deaf ears. She decided to save her breath.

"Does Oropher know, now?" She merely asked.

"No! Deceit is still the manner in which I deal with him. He leaves me little choice, true, but it still upsets me. "

"If you are referring to keeping my role secret..."

"Not only that." He smiled bitterly. "Do you know how I convinced him to have us share command of our troops?"

"No?"

"I told him you threatened to incite revolt among my Silvan if he didn't."

Galadriel laughed, incredulous. "Well," she said, "let us hope Ealc never hears of this," she said. "If she did, you could actually face one."

-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-

The war council meeting had been going on for hours. Galadriel looked at the position of the moon and softly touched Artanáro's mind with hers. He gave an almost imperceptible nod in response.

"Very well," he said, "it's time to wrap it up. We've discussed everything of import, and are beginning to run in circles. We attack on Summer Solstice; Lindon troops will march down the south way, while Rivendell troops will go through the High Pass and collect Lindórinand troops on their way. Greenwood will march directly south. We'll meet on the eve of the Equinox, just north of Emyn Muil. Attempt to move with as much secrecy as you can."

"How am I supposed to move in secrecy with my entire army?" Oropher asked scornfully.

Nelyafinwë had managed, Galadriel thought bitterly, remembering that dreadful day in Thousand Caves. "Let's not go back to that," Artanáro replied. "We've already discussed it. I realize full secrecy is impossible, I'm just asking for as much as you can manage. It's more of a task for the rest of us, though: the way from Greenwood to Emyn Muil is short."

Before anyone could say more, a messenger stumbled into the council. He was clearly exhausted, and his clothes was stained with the dirt of many days. It seemed he rode without pause.

"What is it?" Galadriel asked, alarmed. Had Sauron attacked first?

"My lady, my lords," the messenger said, "Númenor…"

"They came to help?" Artanáro asked in excitement. After they had been unable to convince Palantír to involve himself in the war – understandably enough, since he had his hands full at home with a civil war happening – they had lost all hope for help from those quarters. It seemed Queen Míriel had trouble even holding power, let alone leading any wars.

The messenger attempted to smile, but seemed too exhausted for anything of the sort. "In a manner of speaking, my king. The Numenorean fleet arrived to Umbar, marched to Mordor and took Sauron captive with them back to their realm."

There was an astonished silence.

No one had expected that, no one had even considered that. Númenórë had not led a war in Middle-Earth since the fall of Hollin, and that was a response to the elven cry for help. That they would come on their own – because it was hard to read such an independent action as a response to their calls for help to Palantír – was inconceivable.

As the reality of what actually happened began to sink in, all the elven lords of Middle-earth were growing steadily furious.

They had been outwitted by their enemy once again.

"Men," Oropher spat. "Of course they had to meddle in affairs that had nothing to do with them. As they always do." Blaming Beren for the fall of Doriath was apparently Oropher's latest trick. Galadriel supposed she should be grateful it was no longer her, or at least not exclusively so, but this was ridiculous.

Elrond merely looked away, so it fell to Galadriel to speak. Well, she mused, he can hardly hate me any more. "This was no coincidence, Oropher," she said. "Numenoreans haven't interfered in Middle-Earth with a great army for fifteen hundred years, and suddenly they'd come on the eve of our war? No, we've been discovered again, and Sauron found yet another new and unexpected way to trick us."

"By inviting a Numenorean army?" Amdír asked doubtfully.

"It may well be that they responded with more force than he'd hoped they would, or something else went differently than he planned, and he had to alter his plans somehow, but I don't have the smallest doubt that he had intended to hide from us in Númenor, the only place where we truly can't reach him. Only I assume he hadn't planned to go as a captive."

"Why can't we reach him there?" Oropher asked challengingly.

"Don't speak nonsense," she replied sharply.

"Perhaps you should remember who is a king here...and who isn't," he answered, sneering.

Had someone else said this, it might have stung, but from him, it was only ridiculous. Artanáro joined the conversation here. "If we're to use titles instead of arguments," he said in a hard tone, "then allow me to say, as the High King, that Galadriel is right. We can't touch him there, and we won't attempt it. The question, however, is – what do we do now?"

There was only silence in answer.

"I assume he'll not stay in Númenor forever?" Amroth turned a questioning look towards Galadriel: "Did you See anything?"

"Without having the time to look into the Mirror, all I have are dark premonitions."

"Then go and look," Artanáro said. "We'll wait. This is important, and we need to know."

Galadriel rose with a sigh, and Celeborn went with her, walking through the forest in silence. Neither of them had the strength to discuss anything just yet. All of their plans – the plans of a millennium, and even more if the preparations they did before Sauron came to Hollin were to be counted – were in ruins. Everything would have to change now, and just at this moment, she had no idea how, or what to do.

The mirror glittered at her and raised her spirits a little. She smiled. "Ardamírë," she muttered. "Always nice to see you."

She took the jar and poured some water into the basin, and then leaned over its edge while Celeborn held it.

She saw destruction.

She saw Númenórë falling, its beautiful building collapsing, the King¨s Tower in Armenelos in ruins, the White Tree withered…

And worst of all, she saw Eldanna too, all of its beauty destroyed, the mellyrn gone, withered or felled, the land a wasteland. She saw it burn, she saw it tremble in an earthquake, she saw it drown, she saw a great wind come and take it all away until it was all gone, until Númenórë was no more.

Her vision from millennia ago would come true soon.

She emerged from the mirror shaking, and Celeborn let go of the basin to hold her for a moment, to give her time to calm down.

"What did you see?" He asked then.

"I saw them fall," she said. "I saw them all fall...oh Valar, how can I ever tell Elrond? His brother's children...he'll never forgive himself, he'll never…"

"We'll let him stay here for a while," Celeborn muttered. "With Sauron gone, Rivendell isn't in much danger and Lord Glorfindel can manage there. And he'll need Celebrían."

"He'll need everyone," Galadriel agreed, "but there's also much work to do..."

They walked back in silence too, this one even more mournful. What of Silmariën's children, Galadriel wondered? What of the Faithful? Would every single one perish in this disaster that Sauron would bring upon the realm? She thought of that ray of light she saw those years ago, the hope that was to come from Silmariën's house. What did it mean, she wondered? What would happen?

And how, how could Sauron ensure their fall? He was mighty, yes, but Númenórë was still strong. They defeated him, after all. How would he…

Now Galadriel had another horrifying though, because she remembered the Enemy, and how he defeated those who had previously defeated him: he had help, help more terrible than could have been conceived.

As Sauron was a shade of Moricotto, was there perhaps a shadow of the terrible monster that brought on the Darkening of Valinor? Could Sauron have help too?

But surely not. She only saw Númenórë fall, and if there had been a monster like this involved, it would have been so much more. Surely…

Still, she was afraid.

She found herself hoping, once again, that one of the rings would truly be in Númenórë and that it would be through that, somehow, that Sauron would control it. It would be the least painful answer.

They reached the council, and Galadriel was faced with a dozen curious eyes. "Have you seen something?" Artanáro asked.

"Yes. Rather more than I'd have wanted." She took a deep breath, but there was no point in delaying it. "The fall of Númenor is near."

There was a collective gasp, but Galadriel only looked at Elrond's face, and the pain she saw there tore her apart. Touching his mind was unbearable. It felt as if he was forced to face his brother's death for the second time. His mind, she remembered, had felt like this on the day of Elros' wedding.

"So did Gorthaur trick them in some way?" Amdír asked, not affected personally by these news.

"Almost certainly, but I don't know if he did in the way you mean – if he's somehow hiding his power until he gets there. I'm not sure...he's not Morgoth, and Númenor is strong. I don't think it'd be quite within his powers, though of course I can't be sure. But I rather think it's a bit more complicated. I didn't see that, though. I only saw the fall."

"And what of him? What of Gorthaur?" Amroth asked.

"I don't know if he'll fall with Númenor or not, if they manage to destroy him as he destroys them. We should stay ready."

"We can hardly stay battle-ready for an indefinite amount of time," Amdír pointed out.

"That isn't what I meant. But keep the weapons, continue the harsher training, ..."

"And use Gorthaur's absence to clear Middle-Earth of orcs and other foul creature, so far as we can," Artanáro added.

"Yes," Galadriel agreed. "We have to be certain that if he returns, he'll find as little support here as possible."

The council dispersed soon afterwards, each of its members feeling bitter and frustrated. They might have died in the battle, true, but at least the evil would have been removed for ever. None of them trusted the Men to deal with Sauron properly, and least of all Galadriel, who knew something about what it was like to have him in your kingdom.

Elrond gladly accepted their invitation to stay, and for a week, he did not leave Celebrían's quarters.

"I wish they were married already," Galadriel muttered. "You know the ways they can console each other are rather limited now."

Celebron raised his eyebrow. "And are we certain they hadn't married, in the week they spent together?"

The Nolde was surprised by the question. "Elrond would never do that, not even in despair."

Celeborn shook his head. "I wouldn't blame him," he said. "We gave our consent, and he's in pain and needs help. It'd be reasonable, even."

"I agree with you, but still, he wouldn't do it. He wouldn't think it proper, and he wouldn't wish to rob Celebrían of her wedding nights by marrying her when he's in despair."

"So you believe that, in his despair, he'll still manage not to consent to marriage immediately, if she offers it? And if I know my daughter, she will."

"Yes," Galadriel said simply. "There are very few people in this world I'd trust in this more than Elrond."

When he emerged from Celebrían's quarters once again, he looked a little better, though still haggard, and a cursory touch to his mind made it clear that Galadriel's trust had not been misplaced. Celeborn took Celebrían aside to talk, and Galadriel spoke to Elrond.

"I am sorry," she said.

He only shook her head. "You knew them and loved them too," he said. "I am sure you feel the loss almost as sharply as me."

"Yes," Galadriel said knowingly, "but less guilt."

"You know the guilt intimately, though."

Galadriel nodded. Yes, Númenórë was Elrond's Hollin, or more precisely his Narogrotto and Hithlum. It was definite now.

"Does it ever go away?" He asked.

"Not truly," she replied. "You merely...get used to it. I wish," she added, "we could warn them."

"If there is one Man we had never any chance of influencing," Elrond replied, "it is Pharazon. Míriel is another matter, but...the most recent rumours are deeply troubling. She is his first cousin, and they still married."

Galadriel was more worried about what kind of marriage it was – if it was like Quettalóttë's, or worse, like Midhel's – than about the degree of their kinship. "I have heard Men do it sometimes," she said.

"Not my brother's children!" He paused. "I feared for the Faithful ones, too, even before now. Their persecution was increasing as Queen Míriel's power was weakening. They begged our messengers not to stop coming, but Artanáro feels guilty about putting them in danger."

"It is their choice," Galadriel replied. "If they believe it worth it, we cannot take it from them. Who does Númenórë trade with, if they refuse any contact with elves?"

Elrond shrugged, looking tired. "No one except their own colonies, as far as I can say. I am surprised the kingdom has not collapsed yet."

"From what we heard, the armies looked like it was very far from collapsing," Galadriel pointed out.

"The armies are strong, yes. That seems to be all Pharazon cares about. Heir method of getting to power might be similar, but another Herucalmo, he is not."

Galadriel was not so certain there was much similarity between the two. Herucalmo ruled for his wife for a large part, yes – but ti was because she handed him the power herself. With Queen Míriel, that seemed unlikely, and it gave Galadriel pain just to think of that.

"But the glorious military victories please people," Elrond continued, "and so they do not complain."

"That will not last," Galadriel pointed out.

"No...but Númenórë may well fall before that becomes a problem."

-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-

The way Sauron would destroy Númenórë became clearer when they heard, a mere few ears later, that he became Pharazon's councillor.

Galadriel was astonished.

Even with what she knew from Hollin...there, her people had not believed her when she told of his identity, and he had managed to gain a strong foothold before she even knew of it. And it still took him two centuries to gain enough control that Galadriel was forced to leave.

The idea that the Númenoreans knew him for what he was, and took him as a captive, and yet were still convinced to release him and give him a position of honour a mere few years later…did he bend them to his will by force, she wondered? It seemed like the only explanation.

It also begged a question: why did the Valar not intervene?

The elven plan to defeat Sauron had a hope of success: she, Lord Laurefindil, Gildor and a few others were powerful enough that if they won the fight, they could divest him of his bodily form and turn him into a formless spirit again, and then send him beyond the confines of Middle-Earth by destroying his ring, if Avorneth's research was correct.

Men could do no such thing, certainly not today. Perhaps Elros or his children would have been capable, but there was no one in Númenórë today who could.

Captivity was the most they could have ever achieved.

So why, then, have the Valar not interfered?

Knowing that the Men did as much as they could, why had they not stepped in and taken him into custody to pronounce punishment over? What were they waiting for?

She knew what Celeborn's answer to that question would have been, but she did not wish to go in that direction. It troubled her.

She realized her own reasoning could not encompass everything, of course, and that there were likely some reasons she did not understand, but still.

She wished there was someone she could truly discuss this with. She missed her brother. Lord Ciryatan, she knew, would be of Celeborn's opinion.

She considered talking to Elrond for a moment. It was not a natural instinct, to go to him for advice, but he would be most likely of all still in Middle-Earth to be willing to enter into such a conversation.

He was also grieving, though, she she preferred to try and cheer him in any way she could when she spoke to him, instead of reminding him how unjust the Valar could be sometimes.

That was one upside to the disaster of Sauron being taken to Númenórë: they could move freely around Middle-Earth once again, or mostly so, and they took full advantage of it.

Galadriel visited Caras Aear and Grey Havens after such a long time, happy to speak with Ambë and Lord Ciryatan and to lay eyes on the realm once again. Her visits to Rivendell returned to regularity.

Artanáro was expanding Lindon, too, further beyond the wall of Blue Mountains, and encouraged as many elves as he could to settle in the areas that used to be covered by the Great Forest before it shrunk back from Númenoreans and Sauron. Elven settlement, they knew, was the surest way to prevent orcs from living in those lands instead.

The Lindon elves went willingly enough, and apparently, for many, I was an impetus to stay after they considered sailing. They saw Sauron being taken away as a sign of hope, while their superiors, without fault, saw it as a sign of worse things to come.


	69. Transformation

**Chapter 69: Transformation**

 _Year 3_ _319_ _of the Second Age, L_ _ind_ _órinand_

Galadriel had just been descending from a flet when it happened, and her knees buckled and she fell.

There were cries of "my lady!" and "what happened?" around her, but she did not hear them. She only stared ahead of herself in horror as more and more people circled her. Finally, someone brought Celeborn and he knelt next to her. "Galadriel, what happened? My love, speak to me!"

She found it hard to formulate words, still reeling, incredulous and not even understanding if what she felt was despair or anger or awe. "The world...was changed," she replied at length.

"What do you mean?"

How to explain something like that and not sound ridiculous? The words were absurd even in her head. "Its shape..." she was still in a daze. "The Immortal Lands...have been taken from it, and Númenor has sunk."

"The Immortal Lands have been taken? What do you mean? Sauron doesn't have such power..."

"No...not Sauron...the Valar do." She blinked. She could feel the echo of her horror in Elrond's mind, and half to him, half to those around her, she said: "We must send a messenger to Artanáro. They'd have seen something." She rose slowly and took Celeborn's hand. "Forgive me," she said to the others, "but I wish to be alone now."

They walked in silence for a long time, Galadriel simply letting her mind float. She could not reutnr to her vision, not just now. She needed some time to recover, to regain her balance. To make sure she had not dreamed it, that she had truly seen what she thought she had seen.

But time passed, and the memory of the vision did not recede. So it was real, she thought. There was nothing for it, the world she was in now was no longer the same one she had been in mere hours ago. And most elves felt nothing. She marvelled at such power, and it terrified her, so she turned her midn to the forest around her once again. She was not ready yet.

When they were far from the city and nearing the hill with her Mirror, Celeborn asked: "What did you see?"

She slowly shook her head. "Look into my mind and see for yourself," she replied. "It's a horror, but I don't think you can believe me without seeing it."

And so he did look, and he flinched from the image in fear. "They can't bar the way to Aman," he muttered, "they can't..."

"I've told it once to Elrond, and I'll say it again to you: they're the Lords of the West. They can do anything they want."

They walked on. Realizing that she did not have infinite time, that there would be matters to attend to in the wake of this, Galadrile forced herself to face the matter. Slowly, very slowly, she tried to adjust to what had happened, to this new world. Every time she attempted to think it – the shape of the world itself changing – her mind shrunk away from it, however. It was absurd, unthinkable.

Celeborn touched her mind lightly, trying to soothe. "My love," he said, "won't you sit for a while?"

She only mutely nodded. They were at the foot of the hill now, and she sat down in the moss, leaning on Celeborn, and closed her eyes.

When she did, she saw flashes of her vision once again. The sinking, she could face. She had known it would come for several decades now, and even though it hurt, she had had time to come to terms with it. So she concentrated on that, and on mourning the lost beauty that was the island of Anor, and the glory that was the realm of Men upon it.

She thought of the beauty of the Bay of Eldanna, and she thought of the mellyrn growing there. With the island gone, her seeds might be the only remnants of those trees outside of Aman. And she could not plant them in this marred world...it hurt more than before.

She also thought of all those that died with the island. She knew none of them personally, but they were descendants of Elros, and so she wept for them. She thought of Lords of Andúnië, of that slight hope, and wondered if and how had it come to pass. And how many of that house, of the Faithful, died. And what was the justice in that.

She stopped her mind from going in that direction, however. It was not her place to question the Valar, whatever Celeborn might believe – and his thoughts made it clear that he caught hers, and that his mind was made up on this matter. _It is a good thing I could not go back to Aman_ , she thought in bitterness, _for he might have been reluctant to go with me._

To prevent herself from more such musings, Galadriel thought of all the other Númenoreans she had known, and wondered whether any like that had died. Had there been scholars like Vardamir and Elendil? Or born kings, like Amandil? How many hotheaded young men like Aldarion perished with the island? How many stubborn old ones, like Meneldur? How many noble ladies like Silmariën, how many wild ones like Ancalimë? And how many fiercely independent ones, like Tindómiel?

Oh Valar, Tindómiel! She must know by now – surely she must know what happened, someone in Aman would have told her. How she must feel! Her home, her place of birth, her family...all gone by the will of the Valar, all destroyed.

Did she resent staying in the West now, Galadriel wondered? Did she hate that she was guest to those who had sunk the land of her birth?

Galadriel's heart broke for her even more than it did for Elrond, for he, at least, never loved the land itself as much as she did. The memory of the first journey to the Bay of Eldanna they made together appeared clearly in Galadriel's mind, and she wept for all that was lost there, and for all the pain it cost.

Hours passed before she could tear her mind away from her memories of Númenórë and even consider addressing the other matters. Still she shied away from it. The world changing shape...it defied imagination.

And it was not only that, either. She had only the slightest glimpses of anything else, but they were enough to tell her that something had happened to Tilion and Arien, too, that they as well changed forms. It was to be expected, she supposed, since with the world having a different shape now they could no longer continue as they had before, but still, it was beyond strange.

Galadriel thought of Lady Arien as she had known her in Aman, and looked up to the sky to the first glimpses of her light appearing over the horizon. _What happened to you, my lady?_ She wondered. _You still look the same to my eye. What new form did you take?_

However she looked now, Arien was directly above her before Galadriel could turn to more practical matters, pushing her wonder about what happened to the back of her mind. There were going to be practical concerns to deal with, after the disaster. Even though all she wanted to do was lie somewhere and have her mind rest and adjust, she guided their steps to the mirror.

"My love," Celebron said carefully, "are you sure it's wise? Your visions are weaker without the Mirror, and this one still almost made you lose your consciousness. I don't know if..."

Galadriel shook her head. "I don't expect to see the change and the destruction. The mirror shows the past sometimes, true, but I can direct it to a degree, and that is not what I'll be asking about. We need to know what happened to Gorthaur."

And so she looked, and there, she saw what she had already feared and expected: a wraith rising from the ruins of Númenórë in anger, and flying towards the East.

"He isn't gone," she said shakily. "He's still here."

"Can't even one good thing come from this tragedy?" Celeborn asked in anger.

"The Valar made it clear they won't help us whatever happens," she returned bitterly, in spite of herself. "It'd be foolish to expect they'd do so amidst the destruction they themselves caused."

Galadriel rode to Rivendell as soon as she was able, as soon as she woke from the daze of her incredulity and recovered from the strength of her vision. Celebrían rode with her, to console her betrothed. The lands were still as free from orcs as they had been for the last few decades, but there was no guarantee how long that would last. How long until Sauron took back his command.

Lord Laurefindil came to greet the ladies instead of Elrond. "My lord is resting," he said, and he and Galadriel exchanged looks as Celebrían ran to his chambers.

"How is he?" She asked quietly.

"Not well. Even though he knew it would come, this..."

Galadriel only nodded. "I know how that feels."

Lord Laurefindil frowned. "With all due respect, my lady, the world was never changed for the failures of one of the realms you were responsible for."

She shrugged. "Sauron forged the Ruling Ring there. Call it what you will, it certainly changed the fates of us all."

He nodded in acknowledgement. "Perhaps you should speak to him, then," he suggested.

"I will, of course, but he and Celebrían deserve some privacy now."

He smiled a very small, sad smile. "I would say I hope they make good use of it, but I know my lord too well for that."

"Yes," Galadriel agreed with a tired sigh. "I and Celeborn both told him we would not mind as long as Celebrían did not, and she said she did not, but still he insists that they need to have a proper wedding after the war is over, however long it might be now."

He exhaled upon hearing that. "Sauron is not gone, then. I thought so."

"No, he will return, though he has been weakened by this."

Lord Laurefindil sent a fleeting look to Elrond's chambers. "Have you explained to Lord Elrond that there is no reason why they could not have the wedding celebration anyway, after the war is over?"

"I have. Many times, in fact. I truly believed it was a good idea that they be married before Númenórë actually fell, because I knew he would need consolation. But Elrond, even though he does not seem like it, has that seed of Beren's stubbornness somewhere in him."

"Or perhaps it is your influence."

She laughed, with a touch of bitterness and a touch of insanity. "Perhaps. Come sit with me, Lord Laurefindil, and let us have some wine. I need something to cheer me while I wait for Elrond to need me to lift him from his despair."

-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-

In the end, the Valar proved not to be quite as unreasonable as Galadriel had feared them to be. The messenger from Artanáro returned, claiming that Lord Ciryatan had a visit from Lord Osse. "The world is made round," the message said, "but if we who are allowed to sail to Valinor wish to do so, we will still be able to find it, for the Lords of the West will guide us and draw our ships to them."

The world is made round...it sounded too absurd for words, and yet Galadriel knew with certainty that it was the truth.

And all this, she thought, for the pride of Men.

And yet she could not blame them, not as Oropher and even Amdír did, for what was the difference between her and them, in the end?

They were banned from going to Aman, and they disobeyed; she had been banned from leaving it, and she disobeyed as well. She sought life, life as she imagined it should be, and so did they, life in the form of immortality they glimpsed with the elves.

Perhaps, she mused, we should have been banned from visiting the island from the start.

She knew, from Elros' wife and his children, that in itself and when not sudden or violent, death could be a sweet release. The only reason Elros regretted it was because he was leaving his brother and aunt behind. If all he knew were mortal as well...he never despaired over leaving his children, for he knew he would see them soon again. It was his elven family he despaired of.

If the Men of Númenórë had not seen elves so often, if they had not had to face the reality of the same ones visiting them for ages while they themselves were being claimed by death one by one, perhaps they would not have chosen disobedience.

Perhaps the only way for Men to be content was in a world without elves.

Galadriel shook her head at the idea. Eru knew what he was doing, and if he made the two kinds live side by side, there must have been a reason for it, even if they often brought each other grief, Men to elves by their death, which brought loss of friends and even family sometimes, and elves to Men by their life.

Valar proved to be merciful in one other thing, too. The Faithful of Númenórë have been saved in their ships, and now they had landed in Middle-Earth. Some were found south of Lindórinand by their own people from Pelargir, and some came to Lindon. They were building kingdoms in the spaces of Middle-Earth that were not ruled by elves now. One below Lindórinand, broadening the lands ruled from Pelargir and trying to subdue all the other Númenorean settlements and make them loyal to them, as descended from the line of Elros, and another above Rivendell and Lindon, in the northern lands elves preferred not to settle.

Galadriel welcomed it, for it was a help in the fight against evil that was t be renewed soon, but many elves resented it, especially the northern kingdom, claiming that a race that caused the changing of the world should not be allowed to dwell among them as friends.

Galadriel personally thought that as a race who made it possible for Sauron to make the ruling ring, they had no right to speak, and that the Númenoreans deserved Arnor for the help they sent those centuries ago to repel Sauron from Hollin.

Artanáro and Elrond had both been in touch with the king of Men before now, but she had not. The people of Lindórinand still preferred not to allow the Second born into their realm unless they had to, and the southern kingdom was further from their borders than the northern was from those of Elrond and Artanáro. The king dwelt in the North, besides, and left the South to his sons to rule. Galadriel's only contact with them was through the official letters Amdír exchanged with them.

It was about to change, though. She was to meet with the King of Men. She was curious to see the descendant of Elros, and Silmariën, too. It seemed he was that single ray of hope and light that she had foreseen centuries ago. Who would not be curious about that? And so she had asked Amdír for leave to personally welcome the delegation on the edges of the forest. It was unusual, to be sure, since someone less important from the council would normally be sent for such a task, but she wanted the additional time of the journey to the capital to get to know them.

She found them at the appointed place. King Elendil stood with his sons, Isildur and Anárion, proud and haughty. The name itself pained Galadriel, who remembered a different Elendil when she heard it, the wise father of Silmariën. She looked for traces of her in this new king, or of Elros, Beren or Tuor, but she found little in his face. Let us hope, she thought, there would be some in his character.

When she approached enough for the ears of Men to hear her and their eyes to see her, she said the words of the formal greeting: "Welcome, Elendil the Tall, High King of Gondor and Arnor and King of All Men of the West, to the realm of Lindórinand, and welcome to your sons as well, Princes Isildur and Anárion. I am Artanis Nerwen, an advisor to King Amdír, and I have been tasked with accompanying you to the capital."

"My lady," he bowed to her. It was a very perfunctory bow, she noticed. But then, who was she, from his point of view? She could see it in his mind: she was no queen, and he was a king.

She returned an equally perfunctory bow, and could see the irritation in his mind. Some of it even showed on his face, though only as a mild frown. She smiled at that. She had no wish to offend him, but she would certainly not bow deep. "You are offended by my lack of courtesy, king," she said, "but perhaps it will soothe your pride if I tell you I offer no deeper courtesies to the kings of my own kind?"

"How you treat your kind is your business," Isildur barked, "but my father is the King of Men."

"Isildur!" His father said sharply, and then: "Please excuse my son, lady, he is still young...and he is grieving."

"I would not call any Man young at his age," she replied, "but grief excuses many faults. And I know it is not easy for you to understand my position. You have not known as many kings as I have, and so you might not see why I hesitate to bow deeper before you that I ever did before any High King of the Noldor, or before the first king of Númenórë."

That seemed to throw Elendil a little. "You knew King Elros?"

 _He does not realize who I am._ The idea amused her. "I raised your king Elros, and he was like a son to me, together with his brother, whom your grandfather still knew and whom you met as well in Rivendell."

"Forgive me, lady," the king muttered. "I did not realize you remembered the First Age of the World."

"So I can see. But come, King Amdír awaits you. I asked him for the honour of welcoming you, so that I could speak to you in privacy first, instead of before the entire court."

They set out, but Galadriel could feel the undying curiosity in the king's mind. Elros and his first descendants could close their minds at least a little, but Elendil clearly could not.

"You wished to speak to me in privacy?" He asked. "Why?"

"To take your measure," she replied easily, and could sense Isildur's irritation behind her. "To see if you had much in common with Elros, or your other ancestors – and his."

"Did you know many of them? King Elros' ancestors, that is," he clarified.

"All of the elven ones," she replied. It was the truth, though it was also true she did not know Aunt Anairë's parents very well.

King Elendil stayed silent for a little while, musing about this. "You introduced yourself as an advisor to King Amdír," he said after a while, unable to contain himself. "Does he, too, remember our first king and those who came before him?"

"Only some of his ancestors. He does remember Elros, though he did not know him well."

That seemed to surprise Elendil. "I never heard of him in any of our stories...but then, neither do I recall hearing of you. Were you always an advisor to him, then?"

Galadriel laughed at the idea. "No indeed. I am daughter of Arafinwë, High King of the Noldor beyond the Sea, and I counted over fifteen centuries before Amdír was born. I came with the Noldorin host from the West."

Elendil, poor man, was struck speechless. "You are Alatáriel, queen of the lost realm of Hollin," his son breathed.

Galadriel really did feel rather sorry for him. A little.

-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-

Oropher and Elrond came to meet Elendil in Lindórinand, too, and Elrond and Galadriel would then accompany him to Rivendell, where he would meet with Artanáro. It was a complicated plan, but they thought it the best for such an official journey when when all matters of diplomacy were duly considered.

First, however, there was to be a war council.

"Sauron is likely gone for all time," Elendil said in Quenya, since his Sindarin was not good enough to speak fluently, "but there will be his servants to contend with."

"Gorthtaur isn't gone," Galadriel replied. "I've seen visions in my mirror. He'll rise again, though I don't know how long it'll take him."

"Good," Elendil said in a hard voice. "That means the Valar gave us a chance to revenge ourselves. We need to be prepared and strike as soon as he rears his ugly head."

"It isn't that simple," Elrond cautioned. "We spent centuries preparing for this war before Pharazon swept in and ruined our plans."

"Well, I do not have centuries," Elendil replied, "and I want to see him defeated. I refuse to wait."

"You refuse!" Oropher exploded, evidently tiring of pretending not to understand Quenya in the slightest in face of such outrage. "When it was your fault we didn't defeat him before! You have no right to refuse anything!"

"I do not force you to march to war with me. If needed, we will go alone, but we will go."

"If you go alone, you'll die," Galadriel pointed out.

"Perhaps. If so, such is our lot. I will not leave my homeland unavenged."

Gakladriel and Elrond exchanged looks. This was not going to be easy.

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King Elendil sought her out after the council, to apologize again.

"I thought..." he sighed. "We were taught that the elves who lived East of the Mountains were forest-folk, a little like the wild Men you can sometimes find in smaller forest here. Primitive peoples with little culture and short memory. It never occurred to me...I am sorry, my lady."

Galadriel wondered what was the origin of that teaching, whether it had been a sarcastic jab at Oropher by Elros that got out of hand in later generations, or whether some of the later travellers to Middle-Earth were responsible. "I advise you," she said, "not to say that too loudly in this forest. By those primitive elves, I assume your loremasters meant the Silvan, for I do not believe your explorers travelled far enough East to come across the Avari. The majority of those who live in this realm are, indeed, Silvan, but you would do well not to call them primitive. True, they have not built great realms like Númenórë and they do not write books or invent things like the Noldor and Vanyar do, but I dare you to try and win an argument with Ealc, one of our Silvan councillors. You will see, then, how primitive they are not. As for Amdír and his people, they are Sindar of Doriath. So about as primitive as Elwing, mother of Elros, was."

Elendil bowed his head. "Again, I find myself in error. It seemed I relied on our lore overmuch. Still, your presence here is surprising. You speak of Silvan and Sindar, but you are of the Noldor, if my loremasters were right in that much."

Galadriel smiled at that, a little. "They were. Or I am counted among them, at any rate, for my mother is of the Teleri and my father's mother is a Vanyë."

"How come you live this far East?" King Elendil asked curiously.

"Do you know where Hollin was?"

He frowned. "By the dwarven kingdom of Dwarrowdelf, I believe."

"Well, yes. And do you know where that is?"

Clearly, here, he was at sea. What had happened to Númenoren lore? "In the mountains?" He asked uncertainly.

"Very true," Galadriel said patiently. "So it follows Hollin had to be-"

"But I thought it was the Blue Mountains!"

Teaching in Númenórë must have truly fallen low in the last years. "No. Dwarrowdelf is in the Mountains of Mist, and Hollin was just next to it, on the other side of the mountains. When my realm fell, I fled to Lindórinand."

That made him frown even deeper. "But why here? Why not back to the great realm of Lindon?"

"My reasons are complicated, and my own. Why does this surprise you so much? Surely by now, you have seen that your ideas about elves east of the Mountains were wrong?"

He shrugged a little uncomfortably. "Well, I heard what you said, and certainly it is not quite how I imagined it, or how the loremasters described it. But I can still see that you have more in common with High King Gil-Galad than you have with King Amdír, however related to King Elros he might be, let alone some of his people."

Galadriel raised her eyebrow. He might have heard her, but he clearly did not listen. "Do you know that one granddaughter of _High King Gil-Galad_ lives in this forest?"

"Truly?" He blinked, but then recovered himself. "Well, then I am certain she is more like you and him, too, than like most other people here-"

Galadriel wondered where were his strong opinions coming from. He hardly spoke to anyone in Lindórinand. "What makes you so sure?" She asked.

"I have seen Caras Aear and the Grey Havens," he replied, "the tall towers and the marble walls of the palaces there. And I have seen this realm, with its people living in trees. What can a daughter of High King Gil-Galad have in common with them?"

So that was all. They lived in the forest, so it followed for Elendil the people of Lindórinand had to be primitive. She gave him a small, sarcastic smile. "Perhaps you are right about Princess Avorneth," she said. "She is very Noldorin in many ways. At any rate, she is married to one of the most important advisors to King Amdír, Ealc, whom I have already mentioned and who is Silvan."

Elendil blinked again. "And King Gil-Galad allowed...?"

At this, Galadriel scoffed openly. "That is not the way he was raised, either by his mother or by me, to think he can allow or not allow his daughters and granddaughters things."

Elemdil seemed simply confused. "So in your world, fathers do not have control over daughters?"

Galadriel raised her eyebrows. "It depends what you mean by my world. Among the Silvan, certainly not. Among the Noldor, it rather depends on father and daughter. Asking for a blessing for marriage is expected, but it is also very common that if the blessing is denied, the daughter marries nonetheless, if the father cannot be reasoned with. With the Sindar, well, that is where you would need a father's permission most, even though that is slowly beginning to change today, too – at least in this realm."

He shook his head, bemused. "It is so very strange...no one ever told me about these differences between us and elves. All they ever talk about is immortality..."

"I am not so certain this is a difference between elves and Men," Galadriel said with a degree of sharpness. "Queen Ancalimë did not take kindly to any man telling her what to do, and neither did Queen Telperiën. And I rather think your foremother Silmariën would have thought it was a bad habit among the Second born to think daughters were to be commanded by their fathers. But of course, that is many generations past. Things have clearly changed in Númenórë before its fall." She turned to leave, not in the mood to argue with him, but then stopped and added: "In any case, a word of warning, king: do not regard the Silvan as primitives worthy of your condescension. They are weaker than us, yes, for they have never been to the West, but they are not worse. Be very careful."

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AN: I swear Galadriel wasn't trolling Elendil on purpose. This is just the proper way to formally introduce yourself, and she was speaking to a king, after all, so when else should she be formal?

Also, even though the Faithful were of course the good guys, I still don't see them escaping quite unscratched from the gradual darkening of Númenor. The society you live in shapes you. So I'm not going to make them into another Elros and company.


	70. Alliance

**Chapter 70: Alliance**

 _Year 3430 of the Second Age, Rivendell_

„We've been preparing for this war for hundreds of years, and now they want us to attack in five? It's impossible!" Oropher – who else – was shouting.

„It isn't impossible," Elrond corrected pedantically. „Most of our preparations are still in place. We can march much more quickly, though perhaps not in five years."

"We aren't going to be ordered around by a group of refugees from a sunken realm!" The self appointed High King of all Sindar continued his tantrum.

"We've failed once in our attempt at war," Artanáro observed, "and thought it was for our haste. We took longer the second time, and we've failed again. Perhaps increased haste is the answer."

"Increased haste would be fifty, perhaps thirty years." Amdír muttered. "Five is folly."

"The precise length of time can be negotiated," Galadriel interjected, "though we have to count on them wanting to move more quickly than we'd have preferred. What we have to decide is whether we want this alliance or not."

"Not if they keep suggesting such ridiculous things!" Oropher raged.

"For me," Artanáro said, ignoring him, "the answer is certainly yes. Yes, we want their help, for even though they are refugees, they are strong and numerous, and if their help means but one less elf will die, we can't refuse it."

 _Are we sacrificing the lives of Men for the lives of elves now?_ Galadriel asked Artanáro in her mind. They knew each other well enough and long enough that, sitting next to each other, their mind-speech was almost as clear as words uttered aloud.

 _Of course not,_ he replied. _That is not what I meant and you know it. The more warriors, of whichever kind, the less deaths there will be on our side._

Of whichever kind...once agreement was reached, she would have to start negotiating with Khazad-dûm again. As far as she knew, they did not have any particular objection to the Númenoreans, so that should not be what would break the agreement they had from before Sauron was taken to Númenórë, but still, as long as she wanted the Nogrod line to take part as well, some difficulty or another was bound to present itself.

Galadriel returned her attention to the meeting to hear Artanáro and Elrond join forces in enumerating all the advantages of the alliance with Men to Oropher, with Amdír's rather more reluctant support. She would not even need to see his mind to know he would take Oropher aside after they adjourned, and would present precisely the argument Artanáro had just refuted in the privacy of his mind. Finally, after all the years, she understood how he thought.

With this in mind, she waited another few moments and called for a short break in the discussion, and then walked away to give Amdír and Oropher some privacy. Artanáro and Elrond followed her.

"He is more stubborn about this than I expected," Artanáro observed.

"He is still angry about what happened two centuries ago," Galadriel said by way of an explanation. "Do you think there are some berries here somewhere? Since I called that break, I might as well use it to eat."

"I am sure I saw someone with strawberries coming in before the meeting," Elrond observed, "so unless they were all eaten..."

They went in search of them, and as they did so, Atanáro said: "We are all still angry about what happened two centuries ago."

That was very true. Every time Galadriel thought of how the war could have been over by now, she felt a need to break something. "Yes," she agreed, "but Oropher has more trouble keeping his grievances to himself than the rest of us. Ah, strawberries!"

The food found, she shared it with her beloved nephews.

"You seem very calm about it. Do you have any idea how to convince Oropher?" Elrond asked her once he was done with his first mouthful.

"I? No. But Amdír does. Let us just finish this bowl, and then, I judge, it might be time to go back to the council room again."

As she had thought, when they reconvened, all the elven representatives agreed on the alliance. To save his face, Oropher stipulated that more reasonable terms must be negotiated, but in truth, it was a sensible demand. Galadriel also knew it was not only Amdír's argument that had convinced him. In spite of his dislike of the initiative being taken from them, he has been preparing for this war too long to let the best opportunity to defeat Sauron pass. Oropher might be frequently unreasonable, but he was hardly insane.

Messengers with their answer were dispatched, and as the council dispersed, Galadriel thought about Artanáro's words. He denied it, but it was true even for him to a degree, what she had said. And she could not blame him for it.

He was the High King of the Noldor, and the King of Lindon, and elves were his responsibility. He had to look out for their lives.

Galadriel only wondered who was her responsibility. Arda, she had claimed all those millennia ago. Was it still true? And if so, what choices in the upcoming war were the right ones, and what were the wrong ones?

She mused about this question for a long time, and then set out to Khazad-dûm.

On her way, one of the eagles circled above her. It was not the King, so she ignored him at first, since usually when they wished to speak to her, the King came in person. But the eagle kept to her, and so finally, she stopped and the envoy of Manwë descended to meet her.

"Lady Nerwen," he said. "I am Gwaihir, the new lord of eagles in Middle-Earth."

Galadriel frowned. "I am pleased to meet you, but what happened to the King?"

"He departed West," Gwaihir said simply.

"Why?"

"The world was changed."

Galadriel opened her mouth to ask why that necessitated the King's departure, but then she closed it again. She decided not to pry any more. The eagles were never talkative, and she supposed Gwaihir already told her more than she strictly needed to know. "Thank you for letting me know, my lord," she said.

"We will join you in the war," he continued.

Galadriel blinked. That was surprising, though it explained why she only met Gwaihir now, instead of when Númenórë had sunk. He had something to tell her. Had the Valar decided to help after all, she wondered. "Should we...include you in our war councils, then?" She asked a little uncertainly.

If an eagle could look amused, he did. "No."

"Then..."

"When you attack, so will we." And with these words, Gwaihir took flight again.

Galadriel sighed. What was it, she wondered, in the line of her uncle Nolofinwë, that made it possible for his descendants to be comfortable in the company of eagles? She had worked with them for two and half millennia now, and sill, she always felt wrong-footed when she talked to them.

She shook her head to clear it and continued on her way. The question of dwarven participation was unlikely to be as quickly solved as that of the eagles, and she did not want to stay away from Lindórinand too long, now that it was dangerous again.

In Hadhodrond, she was duly welcomed and sat in the king's private council room, with him, his heir and the heads of the two other dwarven lines.

"What impetus do we have to fight?" The lord of Nogrod, predictably, asked. "We're safe here."

"I've heard that argument before," Galadriel replied. "Let me assure you, once Gorthaur overcomes Middle-Earth, no one will be safe."

"I agree," King Durin said. "We'll fight. My people, certainly. About the rest, my brethren must decide themselves."

"We won't," the Nogrod representative stated decisively. "There was little enough left of us after the last war, we can't afford any more loss of lives."

Galadriel firmly shut her mind from any prying eyes and only gave the would-be-king an arch look and an ironic smile. She knew he was trying to provoke her by bringing up his ancestors' fate in Doriath, and break the alliance by reminding the other dwarves in the room of it. What Oropher was to elves, most heads of the Nogrod line were to dwarves. In the millennia she had negotiated with them, she only remembered very few reasonable ones. About as few, in fact, as there have been unreasonable heads of the line of Durin. She would have liked to blame the desire to break the alliance on the ring on the lord's finger, but King Durin had a similar ring, and he did not speak similar words. As with Númenórë, where they found no evidence of any possible presence of a ring after Atanamir's passing, it could not serve as an excuse here either.

Belegost was less predictable. Their chief seemed mostly surprised that the matter was decided so quickly for the other two lords. "I'll have to think about it," he said. "I personally am inclined to fight, but I have to think of my people. There are little enough left as it is, we're almost drowning in Durin's folk. If more perished in a war, well, then…"

"You need to know one thing more," Galadriel said with a heavy heart. It was likely, she knew, to make the decision of the king of Belegost for him. But while she had reasons to trick Oropher, to the king of Khazad-dûm, she had to be upfront. He did not act out of stubborn pride or malice, and she owed him honesty. "There's one elven king who dislikes you strongly, as you know," she said. "He refused to even discuss your possible help in the war. That I am here, asking for it, is my private initiative, though the High King is aware of it. If you agree, you'd have to be hidden from Oropher if we don't want him to leave the field."

"What, hide like some bandits?" King Durin exploded.

"I know, and trust me, if the decision was up to me, I'd have you march in honour amongst us. But it isn't. Most elves...well. Both Oropher and Amdír suffered heavily by the Sack of Doriath, and even Gil-Galad, who isn't opposed to you, has absorbed enough of the prejudice against you over the years that he isn't very motivated to argue on your behalf. You wouldn't be hiding like bandits, exactly, but you couldn't march completely openly with us either. We need Oropher's forces too much for that. I know it's wrong, but it is how it is."

"In that case," the heir of Belegost said, "we won't fight. If we can't fight with honour, we won't fight at all."

"I might not send my entire army either," king Durin muttered. "If you want to hide us so much, then it will surely be done easier if there's less of us?"

Galadriel left Khazad-dûm contemplating whether Oropher would lose them the war.

 _I will not let him_ , she decided. _Whatever it takes, I will not give up._

She would take Avorneth and come again, and beg if she had to, but she would make sure they had the dwarven armies on their side. There was a certainty deep inside of her that told her they would be needed.

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"Artanáro," Galadriel said, reaching the end of her patience, "I do not wish to insult you in the slightest, but now is not the time of flattery: you know I am the most powerful of you all. Perhaps if you had been in the West...but you have not, and so you are further removed from the Light."

He smiled a little. "I am well aware of that, Aunt. And contrary to you, I do not believe that even had I been to the West, I could have ever matched you."

She threw up her arms. "Why do you treat me like a weak flower in need of protection, then?"

He laughed at this. "I was in the War of Wrath, Aunt. No one who saw you there could ever treat you like a weak flower in need of protection. No, I am well aware that you would be a great asset in this fight, and that you would be in less danger than any other. That is not why I wish for you to stay on the sidelines."

"Why, then?" She asked, exasperated.

"Because we might not win," he said seriously. "And if we do not, the remnants of this race will need protection and shelter, at least until they reach the western shores and leave. And who else would ever be powerful enough to provide it but you?"

"And if we do not win _because_ I was not in the fight? What them?" She rubbed her face tiredly. "If we are winning, Sauron will come out personally to join the fight. You know he will. And what will you do then?"

"And what would you do?" He turned the question back on her.

"I am not saying that I am a match for him, certainly not with the ring on his hand. But I am closest to being a match for him that we can get. If I stand with Lord Laurefindil and Gildor and some others, we can cut him down."

"Then Lord Laurefindil and Gildor and some others will stand without you, and attempt the same."

She laughed incredulously at that answer. "Do you believe that my absence will make no difference?"

"I already explained my reasons." He paused. "Remember your promise to Findekáno."

She gave him a look of such malevolence he took a step backwards. "That is not the reason you want me to stay back," she hissed, "so how do you dare mention it?" He knew perfectly well how much that promise had cost her over the ages.

"Because it still binds you," he answered weakly. "You swore you would keep out of direct danger unless all your wisdom told you it was necessary for you to take part. And it is not all your wisdom that tells you so, it is your thirst for revenge."

Galadriel gave him a sharp look. "Are you certain," she asked, "that you are not confusing my reasons with yours? I know we are so alike that it would be a safe bet in most cases, but not always, beloved."

He scoffed. "So you do not wish for revenge?"

She exhaled. "Yes," she said, "yes, I want my revenge on Sauron, for killing my brother and destroying my realm and killing your daughter and her husband. But I have wanted that revenge, that justice, for millennia, and it had never made me do anything foolish, it had never made me go against my word. If I want to join the battle now, it is because I fully believe my power might be the deciding one."

"And have you weighted your importance for the survival of your people if we lose against that?"

"And have you?" She returned. "You are their king."

"That is precisely why I have to be on the battlefield, as you know perfectly well. But even beyond that, and beyond my desire for revenge, what do we lose in me if I fall? Yes, I know, I am a good king in your esteem, and perhaps I believe I am as well; but Elrond could rule after me, or you would if he fell as well, and the realm would not lose for it. But if we lose you..."

"You know perfectly well this is what Findekáno said," she replied, the hard edge aback in her voice.

"Because it is as true now as it was thousands of years ago – no, more so, because now you are also one of the few left here who remember the West."

"Aunt," Elrond, who had been silently observing until now, joined the conversation, "you know he speaks true. You are too valuable to lose, and Sauron hates you personally, for your curse. If you are on the battlefield, he will do his best to destroy you." He paused. "You say your wisdom tells you your power might be necessary in the battle. Have you Seen something?"

"...no," she admitted reluctantly. The Mirror stayed worryingly silent on matters of the battle, beyond showing her the need for dwarves that had led her to go to unforeseen lengths to ensure their alliance.

"Then would you, perhaps, consent to taking a position on a hill above the battlefield, to observe? From there, if you judged it necessary, you could always join us, and if not, you would stay safe – or safer than you would be on the field, at least."

She exhaled. That, she had to admit, was a reasonable compromise. But she desperately did not want to agree.

Artanáro, seeing her mind, said quietly: "We cannot lose you because of revenge."

She shook her head. "It is not only revenge, do you not see? It is also guilt, guilt for not being able to stop him when he was in my kingdom. If it was me who took him down, or if I helped, then I would feel a little less guilty about that at least."

"You know your help was more important that that of anyone else," he replied. "The alliance with the dwarves is solely your doing." But that was not the same, and they both knew it.

"If we both plead with you not to go?" Elrond asked.

"If the entire army pleaded with me not to go, it would not sway me," she retorted. "But...I have no choice. You are right. The promise still binds me, and with the option you presented me with, I can no longer say that all my wisdom tells me to fight."

And she went in search of Celeborn, for her heart was heavy.

-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-

Galadriel stood on the edges of the battlefield, surveying the troops and waiting for the fighting to start. The army they have gathered was great indeed, hundreds of thousands warriors, the greatest there has been since the War of Wrath. She sent a fleeting look to the heavens. _I suppose you will not come this time, Ardamírë_ , she said. _A pity. We could use you_. Their army was great, but even with the Seeing Stones used by the Númenoreans, there was no telling exactly how many troops Sauron had on his side.

She returned her eyes to the battlefield, to observe and to soothe where necessary, and that was when she saw Oropher attack, ahead of time.

 _I ha_ _ve_ _seen this before_ , she thought.

She almost laughed, to think she had been so worried that a provocation by the Enemy would break their strategy this time, that some elf's loved one would prove to have been captured and tortured by Sauron, and that it would be their downfall once more.

With Oropher in their ranks, no such thing was needed.

Her heart contracted with horror, for from her position, she saw exactly where he was riding, and that it was a death trap, impossible to escape. They would be closed between the marshes and Sauron's army, and there would be no way out.

And then she saw Amdír ride to join him, and her horror grew.

Her eyes shifted to Artanáro, and she hurt for the choice she now knew he faced. Even if he rode to help immediately, most of Oropher's and Amdír's army would still fall, and he would endanger the entire battle plan by his move.

Yet Galadriel knew what would happen even before it did, for while Artanáro never truly blamed her for leaving Narogrotto, she also knew he had never been as certain as she was that nothing could have been done, and that if he had been in her place, he would have stayed till the end. It was not in his nature to leave anyone in danger and without help, and so he gave the order and his hosts rode out.

Shapeless dark premonitions pushed at her, but she did not need them to know what would happen. _I had seen this before_ , she thought again, and then, _at least this time it is not my fault_. She knew the tactical plan well, and so she knew what would the effects be. Lord Laurefindil's, Gildor's and Celeborn's host moved in Oropher's direction, as well as two others. Artanáro moved the strongest forces, for they offered the best hope to save Oropher and his people, but it also meant he weakened his own support and...yes. Sauron was not inexperienced in command, and he saw his opportunity and attacked.

This, however, was the time when King Durin got his chance to prove his tactical genius, and he used it.

The hidden troops of dwarves emerged from where they stood in Emyn Muil and charged Sauron's forces with their full force, thousands and thousands of dwarves in full armour, the combined forces of three greatest dwarven clans attacking troops of Mordor in force.

In the end, almost all of Durin's line and of Belegost and even some of Nogrod came. Partly, it was their hatred of Sauron what made them come, and partly, it was Galadriel and Avorneth begging for their help. To Nogrod, in particular, they had to promise significant trade advantages in exchange. But they came, and watching them save Artanáro, Galadriel would never regret a single concession, a single humiliation she experienced when she kept coming to Hadhodrond month after month, asking for more troops.

Sauron, it had to be admitted, reacted briskly enough to this changed situation. It was not long until his own army of dwarves emerged, a smaller one, but still enough to throw Durin's folk. By that time, however, the elves have recuperated enough that they were able to push back and take on Sauron's dwarves, leaving orcs for the dwarven army from Khazad-dûm.

Galadriel, meanwhile, still stood in her position on the highest rock of Emyn Muil and her mind caressed the whole of their army, soothed despair and gave hope and urged all to fight for what was right and bright in the world.

The battle, after that, was over surprisingly soon.

Galadriel rushed down from her rock to help with the wounded, but first, she went in search of Oropher and Amdír.

She found them both, together, long beyond her help, dead and their bodies slowly sinking into the marshes.

Oh, Amdír, she thought. He had been right, then. He did die in the war. Perhaps it had been a premonition? Or had he ridden to Oropher's help _because_ he welcomed death? It was a consolation to know he did, but still, she would miss him, as much as she often disapproved of him. And she was sorry for Amroth.

She exhaled, and blinking the tears away from her eyes – now was not the time, she had work to do - she pulled both bodies out and handed them over to one of Aseanettë's sisters, hurrying to help those wounded she still could.

She found Anor, Lindon's commander, badly hurt, and spent a long time trying to make sure he would heal, until Lord Laurefindil found her and promised to take care of him while she did work elsewhere.

It was a very long night, and she worked through it, and through the morning that followed, until all that could be taken care of were out of danger, one way or another.

Then, she went to find Artanáro.

Before she did, she encountered Elrond, standing in front of the king's tent, staring off into the distance.

"Beloved," she said, pressing his hand. "How are you?"

"Lalvon is dead," he said instead of an answer – or perhaps it was one.

"I am sorry to hear it," Galadriel said, though among the many deaths of that battle, Lalvon would not be one she regretted in particular. So many of Lindórinand were gone...she firmly stopped herself from thinking about that. Now was not the time, she repeated to herself.

"He died to save me," Elrond continued. "Or rather, sacrificed himself for me." He shook his head. "I was not in that much danger. I could have survived. But he rode to me, headless..."

Galadriel was surprised by the amount of grief she sensed in him. She always felt his and Lalvon's relationship was rather tense. "Are you deeply hurt by his death?" She asked. "I thought you never saw eye to eye?"

"And do you know why that was?"

Galadriel did. "He saw you as Singollo's heir."

"And Dior's. Yes. That is why he died. He...felt it a duty to his king to do anything to protect me from any danger." He shook his head. "He died because of me, Aunt."

She sighed. "Lalvon lived in a world he no longer fitted," she said. "He died protecting what he believed it. It is not a bad way to go. And he has kin beyond the Sea, does he not?"

"Yes...most of his family perished in the Second Kinslaying, the rest in Third."

"Then he will see them again." Galadriel pressed his hand. "I am sorry for your loss, but Elrond, you bear no guilt for this. It was his choice."

He only nodded and she left him standing there, continuing to Artanáro's tent.

He welcomed her with a nod, and poured her a cup of wine without asking. "To the fallen," he said, and she repeated his toast. They sat in silence for a while, contemplating the losses.

"Thranduil and Amroth left," he said then, "with the remnants of their people and the bodies of their kings."

"Good," Galadriel replied with a nod. "Enough Silvan died in this war already because of Oropher's mistakes. We can fight the rest of it without them."

He exhaled. "Do you not...grieve for him?" He asked carefully.

"For Oropher? I do, in a way – he was Doroneth's son and Celeborn's kin, and he suffered much in his life – but even so...there are choices each of us makes, and he seemed to choose wrong at every turn. Perhaps that is a misfortune, too, more than a failing. I do not know. But of those who fell...I mourn Amdír more, and all the others of his people who died. They perished through no fault of their own."

"Oropher died when he was trying to save Amdír's life, you know."

Galadriel briefly closed her eyes. And so they died for each other, she thought.

"What now?" She asked then.

"Sauron has barricaded himself in his tower. We will have to put it to siege."

"The put it to siege we will."

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Sauron's military genius was apparent even in defeat.

They had planned the siege carefully and well, so that the exhaustion to their troops was minimal as the years progressed, and the efficiency maximal. No one was to be provoked to an unpremeditated attack, everything was organized, and they were slowly but surely proceeding to victory.

The group of elves come from the West was prepared to step in the moment Sauron exited his fortress, or the moment they broke in.

But then Sauron, mindful of the weakness Artanáro showed before in the battle, sent a few of his Men to kidnap some of the wounded, and then prepared to slowly hang them from the lowest balcony of his tower.

And while they have all been warned against being provoked, having a real hope of saving their comrades was different – and Sauron made sure it looked like there was some hope – and so, elves and Men alike broke rank and attacked, fighting with all their might to save their brethren.

That, of course, was when Sauron released a wave of orcs from his tower, along with three Ringwraiths.

And just as predictably as before, Artanáro rode ahead, directly into the fiercest battle.

He was no fool, he kept enough troops around him, but that was not what Sauron's plan was about. Galadriel watched helplessly as her nephew fought his way through the masses of orcs, the host of Men closing in from the other side, and she could feel his triumph, a triumph that tasted like ashes in her mouth because she could see what happened next as clearly as if it was already happening.

When Sauron stepped out of his tower, the emotion that the elven host felt was so strong that she momentarily saw him through Artanáro's and Elrond's eyes as well, a dreadful apparition to both of them.

She herself was not afraid. After seeing the Enemy himself through her uncle's eyes, Sauron was but his poor echo.

 _Here!_ She called to him in her mind. _Do you want to destroy me? Come and get me._

His attention was drawn from the battle, as she had hoped it would, and his eyes from behind the helmet alighted on her. _I will_ , was his answer, and he made the first step in her direction.

But then, alas, she sensed anger flare in Artanáro's mind, and saw him charge. "For my daughter!" He cried, and he attacked. _I had seen this before as well_ , Galadriel realized, as if in a daze. Jumping away from the swing of Sauron's mace, Artanáro, with the memory of his daughter's dying moments on his mind, struck him once, twice, three times...but he was tired, and growing more so, and after the seventh blow, he was too tired, and too slow, and Sauron struck him with a wide swing that hit Elendil as well.

 _I love you_ , Artanáro's thoughts said, and Galadriel knew he was thinking of Oreth in that moment. He had no time for anything else. He had no time to even say goodbye to her. It was too quick.

He and Elendil were both dead.

Galadriel screamed.

She fell to her knees, the healers around her running to her aid. She shook them off and forced herself to stand, knowing that Sauron had not forgotten her and that she could not afford to give way to her grief now, for it was her task, now, to destroy him and avenge Artanáro, and Sarnel, and her kingdom, and her brother. All of them.

She looked back at the battlefield, to see what other destruction Sauron could cause until he reached her, but what she saw astonished her: he fell.

She stared at the battlefield, uncomprehending, as the remnants of his armies were crushed, suddenly offering almost no resistance. And then her strength deserted her. She fell back to her knees, covering her face with her hands. _I had exhausted my one wish on Itarillë_ , she realized as if in a fog. _I have saved her,_ _but I cannot save them all._

Then the fog receded, and the pain was sharp again. _Artanáro_ , she cried. _Artanáro, my son…_

When she came back to herself, it was all over.

She was lying on a camp bed, Celeborn sitting next to her and holding her hand.

"You're awake," he said, seeing her eyes flutter.

"Yes," she replied, her voice heavy with pain. "Who...who else?" She asked then. "I know only of Artanáro..."

"Anor and Tavoron, and many others you knew too, probably, only I don't know their names."

She closed her eyes. Anor, whom she had laboured on for so long after the battle...and Tavoron, with his mean streak, who still did not deserve to die...

"Elrond?" She asked fearfully.

"He's...uninjured, but...he'll tell you yourself." He stood up and walked to the next bed, and Galadriel realized Elrond was there, staring into distance.

"Elrond?" He said softly.

The half-elf turned his head and looked at Galadriel. Their minds touched and they shared their pain and grief for a while, and in that, found a strange kind of comfort.

"What is it that you are meant to tell me?" She asked after a while.

"Isildur...he took the ring."

Galadriel stared for a moment, uncomprehending. "The ruling ring?" She asked then.

"Yes. We could not...Lord Ciryatan was there, Lord Ciryatan and me, and we could not take it from him by force, you understand, because..."

She only nodded. She knew well what it would mean to take such a thing by force. Avorneth had warned them all.

"And he...he said it would be the heritage of his people. He claimed it for himself."

Galadriel fought the impulse to escape into darkness again. Not now, she told herself once again. Now was time to deal with things. At least for a little while more. Then, she could despair.

So she tried to close the fear and rage away and think of what that meant, in practice. After a moment, she reached under her dress and took out the chain on which Nenya was hanging. "Do you know where Artanáro kept his ring?" She asked.

At that, he gave a sad smile and pulled on a chain of his own. "Yes. He gave it to me centuries ago, shortly after I left for Rivendell. He felt it would be safest if they were each kept in a different realm, and since Lord Ciryatan had Narya..." He gave his ring a careful look. "I never believed we would be able to use these...the power would have been lost if the ruling ring was destroyed."

"Or at least greatly diminished, yes." She smiled bitterly. "Well, at least some good came out of Isildur's fatal mistake, did it not? We will see what Tyelperinquar's greatest creations can do."

Elrond have her a look full of pain that told her clearly he was not ready to make light of the tragedy yet, not even in bitterness. In spite of all the hurt that was in his life, he was not as accustomed to losses of his dearest ones as Galadriel was, not was he used to losing to the Enemy. "What are we going to do?" He asked, desperate. "About Sauron?"

"Stay vigilant, and hope that one of Isildur's heirs has more sense than he does. What else can we do?"

And that, truly, was the crux of the matter. They could do nothing else, only grieve and hope. For hope, there would perhaps be time later. Now, it was all grief, and so Galadriel allowed herself to sink into it again, and not to emerge for a long time.

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AN: I found no way to have Galadriel utter any other of the cool Spartan one-liners (though I feel like fighting in the shade might still came in handy in the third age), but at least she got molon labe, kind of.

Also, we are at the end of the second age now. Well, technically. I mean, the next chapter happens in the third one, but it's really more of a bridge, and ties more to the events of the second. But still, yay!


	71. Mourning

**Chapter 71: Mourning**

 _Year 1 of the Third Age, Gondor_

Galadriel had spent weeks in her grief.

Except for Celeborn, there was no one closer to her than Artanáro. She had known him for so long, she had raised him, she had shared so much with him. No one understood her as well as him. She used to call Findekáno closest to her heart, but she knew that by rights, that title would belong to Artanáro today.

And he was dead.

Somehow, it defied understanding.

He had been by her side for so long, survived so much, ruled his kingdom for an entire age...and now he was no more.

Galadriel hated herself for acceding to his demand that she be not on the battlefield, for she knew that had she been there, she could have saved him. There was, in the back of her mind, a small voice telling her that he did not want to be saved by her, that this was precisely why he asked her to stay away, but she was too engulfed by grief to listen to it at this point.

She remembered everything, over and over again. She remembered his birth and young years, and how she saw the potential in him. She remembered the death of his mother, and how she had tried to console him in spite of Artaresto's resentment. She remembered taking him to Hithlum, introducing him to Findekáno and watching the beginnings of a friendship that had not had as much time to bloom as it deserved. Perhaps they would have time for each other now, in the West, these two past High Kings of the Noldor?

She remembered Artanáro after the Battle of the Sudden Flame, in Narogrotto, desperate and ashamed of his father. She remembered him after her brother's death, when they did what they could to keep Narogrotto afloat. She remembered his despair when thy had to abandon it, and his grief when his father and sister passed away. She remembered his desire to see Lúthien, and then his short stay in Doriath. How he took the rule of New Havens, and later, how he accepted the mantle of the High King. How he built Lindon from nothing, with the utmost effort to have it open to all and make everyone feel welcome. His shame and reluctance in proposing to Oreth, because he feared the relationship would be unequal. His love for her and his daughters, and his worry for Sarnel, worry that proved to be justified. His infinite wisdom and trust, when he never even tried to object to her marriage to Tyelperinquar. His regret when she left for Hollin, and his joy in the beauty of that kingdom, and in his grandchildren. And his grief upon Sarnel's death, but also forgiveness, the ability to look past the fact that it was Galadriel, ultimately, who was to blame for her passing. His determination to see Sauron eliminated for what he did. His tireless planning for war, for centuries. How his advice grew more and more wise as years passed. And his final sacrifice.

Each of these things was like a stab in Galadriel's heart, and she choked on her sobs as she recalled them to her mind, over and over again, as Celeborn held her.

He had grief of his own, over Oropher and Amdír, but he knew it was not as deep as hers over Artanáro was, and he helped her as much as he could, as much as his own strength allowed him. She herself had none to spare for a long time, and it was only some weeks later that she could even check how Elrond was doing.

He had born the tragedy no better than her. It was was chiefly because they both needed to heal at least a little before doing anything else that they stayed in Gondor so long.

She stood on the seashore with him now, quietly watching the ship that was to take them to Caras Aear the next day.

"The High Kingship has died out," Elrond said.

"You know he wanted you to be king after him," Galadriel replied.

"I do, but still...the High Kingship has died out. I did not claim it for the Sindar, even though I was the actual heir. I will certainly not claim it for the Noldor. I do not wish to be king, I am no longer even convinced the institution as such is a good thing, and it does not fall to me by the lot of fate." He paused. "I would consider being the king of Lindon, perhaps, if none of his descendants grandchildren wanted the title, but..."

"But?"

"Many will sail. More than after the last war, even."

"Yes." After the War of Wrath, most elves who stayed did so because they believed that now evil had been defeated, they would be able to enjoy Middle-Earth in peace. But evil had not been defeated, not entirely, and they suffered through years of war instead. This time, they knew evil had not been defeated, not with finality, and they knew, also, that it was the fault of Men. Most of them washed their hands of the fate of Middle-Earth at this point, refusing to bleed for the mistakes of the Second born, and chose the bliss of Aman instead.

"I do not believe there will be enough of us left to have a proper kingdom," Elrond continued.

"Their decision might be strongly influenced by whether there is or is not a kingdom to stay in," Galadriel commented drily. "And you cannot truly believe there would be less left than after the last war. Lindon had barely three thousand inhabitants when it was founded."

"But Artanáro was the true heir. I would accept the mantle if I felt our people needed it, but if I do not feel that way..." He paused, and added quietly: "Please understand. Apart from not wanting kingship, I also do not wish to take his place. I do not feel I belong on that throne that has only ever been his, and I would ever consider myself a usurper. And yes, I know he wished for me to inherit – if only because you refuse Queenship now – but that does not truly change my feelings." He paused. "I will make up my mind after I see how many are left, and also after I speak to Celebrían. It is her future as well, she should have a word in it."

Galadriel raised her eyebrows at that. "She desires queenship as little as you desire kingship, and she, too, seems to have some serious doubts about the institution itself. You know perfectly well that at most, she will tell you to do what you consider best."

"Yes. I still have to consult with her."

Galadriel sighed. She had a feeling she knew how this was going to go. "You can do so after we arrive in Lindon, then, she will meet us there," she said. "You should not take too long – the people will wish to know what would be the realm they would be staying in."

"And what is your counsel? You believe I should claim the title, I expect?"

Galadriel hesitated. She did believe so, but then, no doubt her own personal preferences were getting in the way. To her, given what her lifelong dream had been, the idea of anyone well qualified rejecting kingship would never sit well. She shook her head. "I will not council you in this," she said. "It has to be your decision, and my advice turns sour more often then not. I cannot even tell you if I can See anything, for the Mirror is not here. But can you?"

"Not at the moment, no. But there is still time, and perhaps a guiding vision will come."

"Do not rely on it." Eru knew it never helped when she would have found it most useful.

He pressed her hand for a moment. "I do not want to go," he said then, quietly.

She gave him a surprised look. "Tomorrow, you mean?"

"Yes. It feels...it feels as if by leaving, his death will become real. We will have to face Oreth, and Maewel, and all the others that love him, and we will have to tell them that we let him die...I will have to see the palace without him...no, I do not want to go."

Galadriel embraced him, realizing fully the difference in their years in that moment.

Weeks have passed since Artanáro's death, and she had spent most of that time deep in grief, only emerging when some matter could absolutely not be settled by Celeborn and required her personal attention. She was hurt by this death perhaps more than she had been hurt by any before. It was like losing a son.

But for all that, she had lived through something like this before. She had lived through it with Uncle Nolofinwë, and then again with Findekáno. She knew what it was when a king she loved dearly died.

But Elrond had spent his entire life under Artanáro's kingship and in his friendship, and as much as Galadriel felt as if she was being cut open by a knife whenever she thought the loss, she was still better equipped to deal with it than Elrond was.

So she held him tight, and said: "Celebrían will be there, beloved. Surely that is some reason to go."

Instead of an answer, he sighed.

"What is it?" Galadriel asked, worried. Surely there was not some trouble between them? The last thing Elrond needed right now was that.

"It is only that I fear I am too much of a burden to your daughter. Time and again, she has to console me, to pull me out of my despair. Is that the sort of life that awaits her? What joy is in that?"

Galadriel gave him a stern look. "You are trying to ruin your own happiness with her once again, Elrond. Do not do that. You have lived through difficult times lately, and I know she never once regretted being able to comfort you, and in fact, only complained of being unable to do more. If a time comes – though I pray it never did – that she will have to deal with loss, I know you will be there to comfort her, too."

"I would do anything in my power," he said immediately, "but still, it seems to me that my lot is so much darker than hers..."

"You have said that once already, and remember what I told you. Allow her to brighten your life, then."

He sighed, but nodded resignedly, and Galadriel decided it was good enough for now.

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Scores of ships were being built in Caras Aear, and it did not take long to realize that most of the city's inhabitants were planning to leave after their king's funeral, accompanying their Queen to the West. Ambë, unsurprisingly, was one of them.

"I just wish," she said, "that I'd died in the battle, instead of some of those young ones who wished to live on here. I didn't fear the Halls of Mandos, and perhaps I'd have still met Fingon there."

"I hope with all my heart that he'll be waiting for you on the beach when you arrive," Galadriel replied.

A grimace of pain crossed Ambë's face at those words. When Galadriel sent her a questioning look, she said: "So do I, in a way, but then I remember what he did and I...it feels wrong, you know, to hope for his quick release. Disloyal to those of my kin he killed."

Galadriel frowned. "I understand, but it was thousand of years ago. Surely..."

Ambë only shook her head. "And I've spent thousands of years musing about this, contemplating whether it wasn't disloyal of me to even consider marriage to him. Not that I expect it'll matter much. The moment I see him, I'll likely forget all of my scruples."

There was bitterness in her laugh, but laugh she did, and that encouraged Galadriel to smile as well, though thinking of Findekáno hurt – especially now, when Artanáro's death opened her to memories of him again.

"Please, make sure to give him my letter," she said

"Of course I will, as well as all the other letters you gave me to deliver." There was saddness in Ambë¨s eyes as she added: "I just wish you could get an answer to them."

"So do I, but especially now, with the changed world, a hope like that seems lost forever." Galadriel hesitated. "Are you afraid of the journey?"

"Across the open sky, you mean? More curious, I think. I can't imagine it."

"Neither can I." The Nolde sighed. "I'll miss you, my friend."

That seemed to amuse Ambë. "We hardly saw each other for the last thousand years or so!"

"True, but I knew you were here. It makes a difference." It also made a difference that after Artanáro's death, Galadriel felt loneliness pressing on her from all sides, but she did not want to say that out loud. "You were my first friend in Middle-Earth, do you know that?" She asked instead.

"You mean a first local? Yes, I did think so."

"We'd all have been so lost without you, back then. Not just me, Uncle Nolofinwë and others as well. Make sure to give him my warmest greetings – he must be back from the Halls already."

Ambë was smiling a little indulgently now, though also with understanding. "Of course I will," she said. "I wrote a list of all I am suppose to give your love to, you know?"

Galadriel laughed through unshed tears. "It must be a long one."

"It is."

There was a short silence, and Galadriel felt obliged to break it, to explain herself. "It is just...you're the last one left I really knew at the beginning of the First Age. I knew Lord Glorfindel, of course, and your uncle shortly after, but not well, and it isn't the same." She took a deep breath. "But I hope you'll be very happy across the Sea. Do you know what you'll do if...if he's not back yet?"

Ambë smiled sadly. "It sounds terrible, but this was actually made easier by the fact that the Queen and so many others are leaving. They'll settle somewhere. If Fingon isn't waiting for me, I'll stay with them until he returns."

Galadriel only nodded. "I wish you luck, my fried," she said.

They stood there in more silence, then. What does one say, really, when a friend of thousands of years is leaving, not to be seen again until the end of the world? Silence seemed, in many ways, like the best choice, and so silent they kept for a long time, before duties called each of them again.

So many departures also meant Elrond's decision was made.

"The youngest of Maewel's granddaughters intends to stay," he told Galadriel when he met her in the palace gardens. They were a sadder, quieter place now than they used to be those millennia ago, when they had been full of children. "She was born shortly before Sauron appeared in Hollin, and she did not truly know Middle-Earth unburdened with war. She wishes to experience it at least for a time, before she joins her family in the West. Most of those who are staying in the capital do so for similar reasons. She can rule the city, the small population that remains there. The majority of those who remain in Lindon are Círdan's people, for he chose to stay as well. Grey Havens will become the largest city now."

"Caras Aear will be almost as small now as when it was founded, will it not?"

"Yes, but I do not believe it will grow again. We know it is no true peace now, and most of those who are staying will not be here long, a few centuries at most. They all mean to leave long before Sauron appears again. They will not have children."

"And what of your own people?" Galadriel asked in worry. "How many will stay?"

"More than a half. Rivendell can continue to blossom, or perhaps begin to blossom is a better way to phrase it. For a short time at least, we should have an opportunity to be something other than a military outpost." He smiled a little through his grief at the idea. "And the Noldor from Lindórinand?" He queried.

"From what I know, about half of them stays as well. At least for a while. It is a good thing, too, for with the way the Silvan and Sindarin population was depleted in the war...Amroth's realm would have been very small indeed if they did not."

He hesitated, plucking an apple from one of the trees and playing with it. "You will return there, then?" He asked.

"Yes." Galadriel shrugged. "Where else would I go? Celeborn feels at home there, and I love the forest as well. My mirror is there, too. Caras Aear would hold too many memories of Artanáro for me, and besides, I never felt truly at home by the sea. Amroth will need our help, advice and support, like I promised his father I would give him, and you and Celebrían will only be across the mountains."

"You know you could come to live in Rivendell."

Galadriel laughed. "I do not believe my daughter would appreciate that."

Elrond did not seem to expect that answer. "Why do you say such a thing? Celebrían loves you."

"As I love her. But she is to be the Lady of Rivendell, and she would never feel fully confident in that role if I dwelt in the same place. I know my daughter well, Elrond, even though I do not always understand her."

"Do you not think she would not welcome your advice?" He asked in surprise.

The question amused Galadriel. "Most assuredly not. I have a more complicated relationship with her than I have with you, beloved." The Nolde paused. "She would probably welcome Celeborn's presence, but then, he would never truly feel at home outside a forest, and I think she will be glad to be able to visit us in Lindórinand from time to time, for she loves it as well."

"Then I am very sorry I will take her from it."

Galadriel gave him an exasperated look. "Do not be. I left my beloved mountains for Celeborn as well, and I never truly regretted it. Just love her, and she will not either."

"You know I do, with all my heart."

"Of course."

They smiled at each other, sharing a quiet moment.

"What about Erestor?" Galadriel asked then, suddenly realizing there was one more person in Caras Aear who was crucial to happiness of one of her – dare she say friends?

"He's staying," Elrond said simply. "Not only because Lord Laurefindil is staying either, I believe. He has his own grudges against the Lords of the West, and no particular desire to leave this shore. In fact, he will be joining us in Rivendell."

That made Galadriel smile. "I am happy to hear that, for Lord Laurefindil's sake."

"Even though it also means you will have to deal with him more often?"

"Yes, even though."

Elrond hesitated for a moment. "I...would like to make him my Chief Councillor."

That did not truly surprise Galadriel. "I am sure he will be excellent at the job."

"You do not mind?"

"Why should I mind? It is your realm, Elrond, and he is hardly incapable."

"Yes, but you know you serve as my unofficial Chief Councillor in many ways, and if you have trouble tolerating him..."

Galadriel wanted to say that after Lalvon, she did not believe it would matter, but out of respect for Elrond's sensibilities, she kept it to herself and only said: "I do not hate Erestor, beloved. I simply would not choose to spend my free time with him. I am sure I would have no trouble working with him, as long as he did not object."

Elrond only nodded, and said: "Speaking of the Lindon council, Gildor chose to stay too."

"Will you find a place for him in yours, then, as well?" He could be valuable help.

Elrond shook his head. "No. I spoke to him, and he wants nothing to do with politics and governing any more. He told me he had spent the last age by it out of a sense of duty, and the only thing it had led to was war and death. He wants to live his life as he wishes now."

Galadriel sighed, and turned in the direction of the Sea, feeling the need to walk. "I suppose he does deserve it," she said as she meandered between the trees. "I know he never enjoyed the responsibility we kept pushing on him. He is, truly, very different from his father."

"He was good at it, though," Elrond remarked, following after her.

"Yes. In that, he is like Amroth – no desire to rule, but the ability."

Comfortable silence fell between them as they walked tot he edge of the cliffs, where stey stopped, watching the Western sea. "Have you considered leaving?" Galadriel asked then.

"Not truly, no. I feel my task here is not done. It was my brother's heir who kept the ring, and that makes it partly my responsibility. I would also like to avenge Artanáro. And I do not believe Celebrían is ready to sail. And I do not feel the pull, at least not very strongly." He hesitated, then asked: "Would you, if you could?"

"Yes. Or rather, I would have if I had not felt responsible for Middle-Earth, like you do. But no personal reasons hold me here any more...except for my inability to comply with the Valar's condition. I no longer believe I can have what I want here, I no longer believe that I will see a world without darkness, and I am tired. So yes, I would have returned in a heartbeat if I could now...but I cannot, and like you, I wish to take my revenge and to destroy Sauron, whose power I know I helped create."

"Aunt..."

She shook her head. "I know, it was not my fault. As Artanáro's death was not, I suppose?" She snorted. "It is funny, is it not, that the only things someone actually blames me for are the ones I do not feel any guilt about. Doriath, and now Oropher's death."

"Thranduil blames you?" Elrond asked, surprised.

Galadriel shrugged. "How could he not? He was taught that I was the source of all evil, and he knows I am powerful. It is not difficult to come to the conclusion that I could have saved his father, and you know he will never blame Oropher. He adored him. He was the only one he had."

"Why does he not blame Artanáro and me, then, from keeping you from the fight?"

"I am sure he does, but he is clever enough to realize that had I really wanted to join, I would have ignored you. No, it is only Amroth who takes this opportunity to clear me from blame and pile it all on Artanáro."

"He told you so?"

"Yes, he wrote me a letter to inform me of the state of things in Lindórinand and found an occasion to mention both of these things. He knows the fault is with Oropher, chiefly, but still believes I could have saved Amdír had I been involved in the battle more directly." Galadriel shrugged again. "He needs to blame someone, and if blaming Artanáro helps to prevent him from blaming himself, he is welcome to it. It cannot hurt Artanáro now, and it will be a long time until they meet across the Sea."

"Blaming himself?" Elrond caught her phrase.

"Well, he wasn't by his father's side when he died, was he?" Galadriel knew there was danger in that. That understanding came naturally to her, from her own guilt about Artanáro.

"I have wondered about that," Elrond admitted. "How come Thranduil and Amroth survived?"

"Amroth wrote that Amdír sent them to the back rows of their host. He pretended it was some kind of crucial task that needed to be executed, but they saw later that it was merely an excuse to keep them in as much safety as possible under Oropher's command. However, by the time they realized, it was already too late."

"He saved the heirs to kingships," Elrond realized.

"He saved their sons," Galadriel corrected. "Having a heir was not that important for Amdír. He told Celeborn before the battle that if both Amroth and him died, he wanted my husband to rule."

"Your husband? Not you?"

"Naturally. You know Amdír was closer to him."

"Yes, but what I mean is...how would you have felt about that?"

"It would probably take a while to get used to," Galadriel admitted. "But then, I do not think Celeborn would try to keep me from the rule entirely. He would accept the responsibility, but he would share it with me as well."

Elrond nodded, and there was a short silence. "When do you plan to head back?" He asked then.

"I would like to watch the ships leave," she replied quietly.

"As would I. And Celeborn, I imagine, will want to say his goodbyes to the Queen."

"He is doing to as we speak." She sighed. "For their sake, I am sorry we did not stay in Lindon longer. Their friendship did not have much time to bloom."

"It is her choice to sail."

"Her husband died, beloved. Of course she wishes to sail."

Elrond hesitated, but then asked: "What would you have done, if Celeborn had died?"

Galadriel stared at the horizon, her eyes attempting to look for Aman, even though she knew it was gone from the world now. She had asked herself the same question many times around the battle. "Faded, probably," she admitted at last.

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Galadriel and her family travelled with Elrond to Rivendell, where they stayed a few days before continuing south and crossing Khazad-dûm, where, too, they remained for a time, to arrange some diplomatic and trade matters. A grave message from Elrond was waiting for Galadriel once she arrived in Lindórinand, however. Isildur was dead, and the ruling ring was lost.

And so she, exhausted, had to put off her mourning once again, and concentrate on the crisis at hand. She called Avorneth to consult what to do even as she cursed Isildur for not riding with a greater escort when he carried such an important burden, but it was too late now. The ring, the message said, was lost in the river.

Avorneth did not hold out much hope, but still Galadriel counselled Amroth to send out a search party nonetheless. They had to try, but it was months since the disaster happened, and besides, as Avorneth told them, if the ring did not wish to be found, there was little enough chance it would be.

The ruling ring...she knew, of course, that if they found it, they would have to destroy it, but she could not quite prevent herself from imagining what she could do with all that power. After all, Sauron was too weak to fight her over it now, so if she claimed it, it would have been truly hers, without a competition, and with the ring, she would not have to be afraid to be Queen again, for the problems she faced in Hollin would be gone now, she would be able to protect her realm from any-

 _Stop it,_ she told herself sharply. The ring was dangerous, and this was precisely why. Besides, if all she wanted to do was protect her realm...there was a different ring she could use, one that presented no danger.

She walked to her fountain alone the night after they returned, and she sat by it, admiring the light of the Silmaril reflected in it. "Give my greetings to Elwing and to your mother, Ardamírë," she muttered. Then her gaze turned from him and she took out the ring that she still wore under her dress.

She unclasped the chain in hung on and twisted it in her fingers. A ring of power...in spite of Tyelperinquar's description, she did not truly understand how it worked. _I wonder if Elrond and_ _Lord Ciryatan_ _already put theirs on_ , she thought. Elrond would have his hands full now that Isildur was dead, ensuring the line of kings of Arnor continued, but Lord Ciryatan probably had.

 _No point in waiting, then_ , she decided and slipped the ring on her finger.

Her senses suddenly seemed sharper, her mind keener, and she felt like great waves were crashing around her. She was disoriented for a moment, but then she located the source of the power and told it sharply, _Still._

It did.

Now, what did Tyelperinquar say? Protection? She examined her situation and found that she was, indeed, protected, as if a moat of infinite depth and width was suddenly around her, with waterfalls crashing into it from all sides. _But it is not me that needs protection._ She considered for a moment. She had thought, just now, about protecting her realm, did she not? Lindórinand was not hers, but it did need protection, especially if an orc army attacked Isildur not far from here just a few short months ago. She could do some good here.

She concentrated and pushed to the sides, and the moat receded from her, extending. _The rivers_ , she realized and pushed it as far as Celebrant and Anduin, where she could feel it gain strength from them. The northern border could not have that reinforcement, but she felt the ring was enough to keep it mostly secure. _The heart of the realm is protected. We will now always have a place to retreat to, if the world around us turns dark again_.

She suddenly thought of Doriath. _I wish I could make this realm what I always though Doriath should have been._ But she was not the Queen, Amroth ruled here, and she knew he was not inclined to make it into a refuge for all. Still, perhaps at least to some degree, she could take her inspiration.

She thought of the spells Lady Melian used in her Belt, and with the power of the ring at her disposal, she found it easy to weave similar ones into the fabric of the waterfall and the moat. _Let no one enter that I would not be aware of_ , she thought, working diligently and drawing on her memories and everything Lady Melian ever taught her.

She was exhausted when she was done, and refreshed her hands and face in the water of the fountain. With the ring on her finger, she saw its power more clearly now, and she imbued it with some protection as well.

She looked around the forest, then, and realized that its air itself changed, became more peaceful and undisturbed and truly reminiscent of Doriath, and thus, in some ways, of Lórien.

 _The mellyrn_ , she realized.

She almost ran to their flet, and woke Celeborn up without hesitation. "What do you feel?" She asked him.

It took him a moment to wake up properly and concentrate. "The air itself is different now," he said. "I feel..." he paused, and suddenly looked at her, his eyes intense: "I feel at home."

She embraced him, and could feel his tears running down his cheeks. They stayed like that for a long moment, and then she asked: "Can we plant the mellyrn now?"

"Aye. We can plant the mellyrn now."

 _Perhaps that,_ she thought desperately, _would help me heal_. Perhaps in this protected realm, among the trees that will remind me of the greatest healer to be found within the confines of Eä, the grief she always felt was threatening to break through the barriers would recede. Perhaps, in a world with mellyrn, she could live with the knowledge that Artanáro was dead.

Perhaps. At the moment, it seemed impossible, but perhaps it would happen.

And so she gave Celeborn the seeds, and then she allowed herself to give way to what she had been holding back, and wept again.

-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-

AN: So, this is the proper end to all those second age arcs.

I have a busy next week ahead of me (all the Christmas parties, you know), and then it's the holidays, of course, so I think I'll have a break from posting this story until the new year, when I should resume posting once a week, since I've made up for my summer absence now.

Expect circa 25-30 more chapters to this story, depending on how many chapters I decide to add to what I've already written. That's another reason I need that break: I've run out of at least partly edited chapters to post, I'm working with completely rough draft material now!

I'll try to post a short story from this verse as a holiday gift, so keep an eye on my tumblr/author page, but I'm not promising anything, so in case I won't have another occasion, let me wish you happy holidays of whatever kind you're celebrating, and see you in 2017. Hopefully, it'll be a better year.


	72. Beginnings

**Chapter 72: Beginnings**

 _Year 109 of the Third Age, Lindórinand_

Galadriel knocked on the door of Celebrían's flet, and after being asked to enter, found her daughter in Avorneth's company. "I need to speak with you, beloved," she said, and Avorneth, understanding immediately, left without bothering with an excuse.

"What is it, Mother?" Celebrían asked once they were alone.

"It is about the wedding." Galadriel hesitated. She had put off this conversation for a very long time, knowing there was great potential for pain in it both for her and for Celebrían, but now there was no more time left. _I dread this more than I dread Sauron_ , she realized, amused, and that made it easier to ask: "Do you wish for me to put your hand in Elrond's, or do you want Celeborn to do it?"

Celebrían looked at her calmly. "You wish to lead Elrond," she stated.

Galadriel exhaled. "I do," she admitted, "but I would not as much as consider it if I did not, at the same time, think you would prefer your father to be the one to give you away. You are my daughter, Celebrían, and I love you. This is your birthright, should you wish to claim it."

"And so you would leave Elrond without any support on his wedding day?" Celebrían asked archly.

Galadriel gave her daughter a hard look. "Do not try to trap me. If it came to it, I would hold both of your hands and join them together, but that is not what you want, is it?"

"No," Celebrían admitted, still in that same, serene tone.

"Then you will be given away by Celeborn?" Galadriel reassured herself.

"I will."

Galadriel found this end of the conversation deeply unsatisfactory, but somehow there was nothing else to say. She looked at her daughter for a long moment, but Celebrían was silent, and so Galadriel left, hoping Avorneth would return soon.

On her way back to her own house, she searched for Elrond's mind through the ring of water on her finger. _Your future wife_ , she said when she found him, _is sometimes very difficult to deal with. You_ _should_ _be prepared_.

 _Have you agreed, then?_

 _Yes. I will give you away._

She could feel his relief, and then his mind turned questioning. _Difficult in what way?_ He asked.

In response, Galadriel showed him the scene in her memory. The way the rings strengthened mind speech was one of their most useful properties – she could communicate more easily with everyone now, but with the other ring bearers, she spoke at any distance as easily as if she stood face to face with them and talked aloud.

 _Do not blame her_ , Elrond said gently after he finished watching. _I believe she feels guilty for preferring Celeborn to do it, even though she knows traditionally it is supposed to be you. That she tries to shift the blame for that on you...well, it is not, perhaps, a very honest thing to do, but…_

Galadriel shook her head. _It is not shifting blame,_ she said, _it is justification._ _If I wish to lead you, then there is no blame for her in being led by Celeborn. I only wish she knew there would not be any even was she marrying someone else._

 _And have you told her so?_

Galadriel sighed. _No._

She could feel the sadness in Elrond's mind. _I do not understand,_ he said, _the love bond between the two of you. I can feel it there, from both sides, but...I do not understand._

 _No,_ Galadriel agreed, _you would not. There are some things I will not tell even to you, beloved, and without them, you cannot understand._

 _Are you not worried Celebrían will tell me?_

That made Galadriel smile, though it was a sad, bitter smile. _She does not know either,_ she replied.

That left Elrond speechless, and so Galadriel continued her original argument: _If she ever asks you about it, tell her_ _I do not begrudge her her relationship to her father. Sarnel was led by her father as well, for she was closer to him. If something, I blame the tradition for pretending it always has to be the mother the daughter is closer to, and father for sons. I think_ _Angaráto_ _wished it could have been_ _our_ _mother who gave him away, but he did not want to hurt_ _F_ _ather, and he was the first of us to marry…_

 _And who gave_ you _away, Aunt?_ Elrond asked curiously.

 _Have I never told_ _you? No one. We both were without guidance on our wedding day. It was my wish._

Elrond laughed. _I should have known it would be so,_ he said.

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The night of the wedding arrived, and Galadriel found herself preparing to lead Elrond up to the hill in front of the royal house, where Celebrían was already waiting. The bride was dressed in silver, grey and white and the moon shone in her hair, making her seem one of Varda's stars. Her father was behind her, and he looked like one of the mellyrn that grew by Galadriel's fountain.

Galadriel looked upon them and smiled. They were beautiful, both of them, and the wordless, flawless understanding between them was almost visible as they stood there, waiting, Celeborn in mute support of his daughter.

Elrond approached, dressed in deep burgundy himself, and Galadriel took his hand – it was shaking slightly – and led him to put it in Celebrían's, held by Celeborn.

The mutual love she felt in that moment, of everyone present, was so deep and unwavering that she almost staggered, overwhelmed. There was power in that moment, power fed by the two rings involved and by the participants themselves, who had enough of it, and power and love swirled together in a mix so strong that Galadriel had not known such a thing before. And then, when Celebrían and Elrond said her vows as she looked into Celeborn's eyes and they echoed them in their minds, the power surged and Galadriel could feel the visions press on her mind, shapeless as ever.

"What is it, my love?" Celeborn asked, noticing her distraction, immediately after Amroth pronounced Elrond and Celebrían husband and wife.

"Later," she murmured and went to offer her congratulations. Elrond noticed her distraction too, and she sighed, not wishing to burden him on his wedding day. "After you emerge from your bedchamber – in a month or so – I will explain," she told him, laughing, and ignored Celebrían's irritated look. Had Celeborn not been her husband, she might have thought her daughter incapable of enough passion for that, but as it was, she knew perfectly well that the Sindar, at least some of them, could be the perfect illustration of the saying that still water ran deep.

The celebration was loud and joyful, as it should be. With the help of the new kingdoms of Men, they had been able to clear the lands of any remaining orcs and so almost all from Rivendell were present, free deom their guard duty at least for a time. Some from Gondor and Arnor have deigned to come, too – not the kings themselves, but Arnor sent the king's heir, Prince Eldacar, and Gondor sent the king's grandson, Eärendil.

The latter made Galadriel feel a mix of longing and anger every time his name was mentioned. She did not understand the habit of the Second-born to wholly name their children after those that came before them. There were only two cases she knew of like that among the elves, Curufinwë and her own brother. And in both cases, it was because they were judged to be so much like their fathers that the name was justified.

She knew she could not faultthem for what was their own tradition. While King Elendil of Gondor and Arnor always reminded her of the Elendil she had known in Númenórë, she could hardly blame his heirs for the pain it caused her. That did not, however, made it any easier to accept.

Eärendil was not some princeling of Gondor, he was the son of her dearest friend and husband of Elwing who was almost like a daughter to her, and every evening when the Silmaril he carried appeared in the sky, Galadriel spoke to him.

Now that she had the ring, it was easier that ever to reach greater distances, and while she could not quite hear Ardamírë speak back, she did sense enough to know that he heard her and reacted to what she said, and sometimes, she had flashes of memories and feelings from him.

Calling the young prince of Gondor by this name was unacceptable.

Fortunately, she did not have to speak to him much apart from giving him the initial welcome, and she was enough of a politician to manage to be courteous and not to show how his name hurt her. She was glad to be away, however, and to find solace with Lord Laurefindil, who did not hesitate to ask her to dance.

"Why are you not leading Erestor onto the floor instead of me?" She asked him in good humour.

"He is only willing to dance when forced by threats of physical violence," Lord Laurefindil replied. "I do sometimes employ them, but it seemed wrong at a wedding."

Galadriel laughed. "Even among all the opposites I have seen joined by the Flame of the One," she said, "you just might be the most blatant case."

"It only seems so to you because you do not like my husband," Lord Laurefindil said good-naturedly.

She frowned at him. "I disliked Singollo a good deal more than I do your husband," she said, "and I was a closer friend to Lady Melian than I am to you, and I still saw the contrast between them as less."

"Erestor would be wounded, I am sure, that he does not have the first place in your dislike," Lord Laurefindil retorted with a laugh. "What were they like?" He asked then.

"Singollo and Lady Melian?"

He nodded.

"She was...well, you were born in Aman. Have you ever gone to see Lady Estë?"

"Not much, to my shame."

"That is a pity, for Queen Melian was much like that lady, and with something of Lady Yavanna in her too – or so I believe, since I never knew that Valië well. She was kind and patient and wise, with infinite tolerance for her husband's pecularities and not enough interest in the more day to day matters of the kingdom. Much of what a queen would normally do was done by Celeborn's grandmother."

"And the king?" He enquired, curiosity evident in his voice.

Galadriel sighed. "I find it hard to say a kind word about Singollo. He loved his wife and daughter, I suppose, in his own way – though not in any way I recognized, for there was very little respect in that love. He cared about his blood ties, that might be best what I can say about him. When he learned of the first kinslaying, it hurt him deeply, and not only because he had been deceived."

There was a pause as the dance led them away from each other, and when they met again, Lord Laurefindil said: "It is strange, is it not? I never knew King Olwë much, but from what I heard, he was very different."

"Yes, but then, is that truly so strange? I was more like my cousin than like any of my brothers, and they were each very different from each other, for all the love that was between them."

"You are right. Kin by blood and kin by character are not, frequently, the same thing at all."

After the one dance, Lord Laurefindil returned to Erestor and Galadriel went to speak with other esteemed guests present at the celebration. Feliel caught her attention, wishing to introduce a new singer that came to prominence through one of the Silvan competitions, and Galadriel was obliged to listen for a time before others claimed her.

Once the newlyweds have quietly slipped away, though, she took Celeborn's hand and led him in the direction of her fountain. "What's wrong, my love?" He asked.

"Nothing's wrong," she replied. "Just...The fate of the world is locked in this marriage. I could see it shifting as they said their vows."

He frowned. "Is this the way you felt when you saw the Silmarils?"

"Not entirely, though it's not dissimilar either. I believe their marriage will be very happy, and a child from it will change the world."

They were silent until they reached the fountain, and Galadriel poured some water from it into a basin, breathed at it and took a look.

"What is it? What do you see?" Celeborn asked when she did not answer for a long time.

"I don't understand," she said slowly. "I see a new king being crowned in Gondor, but I don't know what that has to do with either Elrond or Celebrían. It's hardly going to be their son! Besides, he was clearly a Man."

Celeborn took her in her arms. "Don't worry about it now," he said. "You say you feel they'll be happy together, and that's all that should matter on their wedding day."

-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-

Galadriel had not been far off – it did take the newlyweds almost a month to be seen in public again. As soon as they appeared, however, Elrond sought Galadriel out, first to thank her for all the advice she had given him, and then to ask about her distraction on the night of the wedding.

"Come see for yourself," she offered. "I had a hint of a premonition, and with it the knowledge that the fate of Middle-Earth is somehow connected to your marriage. I think it is in a good way, too, but I do not understand what the Mirror shows me."

"Then I am very doubtful that I will."

"It might show you something else," Galadriel pointed out.

However, it did not. "A coronation in Gondor?" He frowned. "That is hardly changing the world, is it?"

"Yes, for one, and for another, what does that have to do with you?"

"I can imagine that – they are my brother's family, after all. I might be somewhat involved in educating the new king, for example – me and Celebrían both. But why would that be so important...do we know when this happens?"

"Unless there were any clues in your vision, then no." Galadriel made herself smile. "Do not worry about it now. It seems a good thing, and if it should pass, it will. You should return to Celebrían, I am sure she misses you already."

"Oh, I doubt that. She wished to see her father and Avorneth, and it will take her a while to talk to them properly."

"In that case, we have time to talk as well." She smiled at him again, more genuinely this time. "Are you happy?"

"Very much so. You were right, marriage is not something that can be described. I...I do not want to blaspheme, but sometimes it seems like I could almost feel the presence of The One between us."

"It does not only seem so. You know He is there."

Elrond smiled. "Well, He is everywhere," he pointed out.

"In a manner of speaking, yes, but more so in your marriage – in every marriage, as long as it was made freely and with love."

"Are there any other kinds of marriages?" Elrond wondered idly.

"I am thinking about Irissë," Galadriel admitted. "No one truly knows how her marriage happened, but she must have been willing at least to a degree, otherwise she would have faded. It is suspected, however, that Eol ensured her willingness by spells and deceit. What does that mean, then? Was it a true marriage in the eyes of the One?"

"Surely not."

"But they laid together – they had a son together. That is what truly makes a marriage. How could it not be? And yet, at the same time, how could it be? And what about Midhel?"

"Midhel?"

It was only then that Galadriel remembered she had never told Elrond that story in full. She sighed. "Do you remember her?"

"Very little. She was Tyelperinquar's mother, was she not? I recall a sad lady in the Isle of Balar..."

"Yes. She had good reasons for her sadness. I know more about the circumstances of her marriage than I do about Irissë's, and...it was a prison to her, a prison that nearly broke her spirit, and that made her sail West as soon as she could."

Elrond looked horrified, as he should be, and by way of an explanation, Galadriel added: "She was forced into it by a threat of violence. But she had a child, too. If lying together makes a marriage, how does the One look upon that, them? And what about their futures?"

"Futures?"

"Yes. Midhel is In the West, and Irissë might have left the Halls of Mandos by now, but what about Eol, will he ever be allowed to? Fëanáro will not, I am certain enough of that. Are Eol's sins of the same magnitude? He attempted to kill his own son, and killed his wife instead. Surely that kind of kinslaying is enough to ensure the same fate? Or Curufinwë's cruelty?"

Elrond looked at her for a moment. "It seems to truly weigh on your mind."

"It does," she admitted. "As far as we know, Grandfather Finwë was the only one allowed to marry again, yet there are at least three who, it seems to me, should be granted the same right: Aunt Nerdanel, Midhel and Irissë."

"Surely they will be, then? If King Finwë was?"

"That is what I cannot puzzle out. On one hand, yes, if my grandfather was granted that much simply because his wife died and refused to return, than surely Irissë, at least, who has been so cruelly betrayed by her so-called husband, should have the same chance. On the other hand...as far as I understand it, the fact that Míriel had the choice and refused to return to Finwë was crucial in their decision. Effectively, she gave him up. Eol might not do so with Irissë, however, and then what? Will she be forced to spend the rest of the ages of the world alone?"

"I am certain the Valar would not be so unjust."

Galadriel sighed. She had raised Elrond in trust of the Lords of the West – in more trust than she herself had. She did not regret it, for he did not deserve to have her bitterness, but it also meant he could hardly understand her now. "I hope not, as well. At any rate, I did not wish to cloud your newly married time by those dark thoughts. Forgive me."

He smiled slightly. "There is nothing to forgive, you know I enjoy discussing these things with you."

"You have strange taste, then!"

He looked a little sheepish at that. "Not specifically unhappy marriages, I admit," he said, "but the Valar and the One and the fates of the world. These are the rare moments when I am truly looking forward to Aman-" He paused. "Provided you come with us, of course."

"You might wait a long time, then."

-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-

Any worries Galadriel had that Celebrían might have the same kind of selfishness in her she herself did disappeared when she learned that her daughter was pregnant, scarcely two decades after the wedding.

It was Elrond who let her know, naturally, through the rings. The first she felt from him was an absolute explosion of joy, one to equal only what he had felt during the wedding ceremony. She had an idea about what caused it, but it took a long while before he found the time to confirm her supposition.

 _I have the best news,_ he said just as she was about to start working on some organization issues for Amroth. _Your daughter is expecting our first child._

Galadriel's feelings were mixed upon this announcement, and unfortunately, Elrond's phrasing made it impossible to mask it entirely. Through the rings, she was unable to stop the thought _I would not call that the best news_ from escaping.

 _Why not?_ Elrond asked her, surprised and confused.

 _Forgive me, beloved. I did not mean for you to hear it._

 _Nevertheless, you did think it. Why?_

 _I am happy that my daughter is expecting a child that she and you both look forward to and welcome to the world._

 _That is good to hear, but then I never doubted you would be, and it does not answer my question._

Galadriel sighed. _Do you remember,_ she asked, _how I once told you there were but three things I would not show you in my mind?_

 _Yes._

 _This is the fourth one. Do not ask me about this, Elrond, for I will never tell you._

She felt the short answering pain in his mind and said, _It is not like that._

 _I know. Forgive me. This is...well,_ I _did not mean for_ you _to hear this._

 _Will it help if I tell you that not even Celeborn knows?_

That clearly shocked Elrond. _But I thought…_ There was a long pause. _Is this the same thing you told me not even Celebrían knows about, and that you would not tell me?_

 _Please, beloved…_

 _Forgive me. I will not pry._

 _I seem to have an unfortunate tendency to ruin the happiest moments of your life. First your weddings, with my premonitions and worries, then the announcement that your first child is to come into the world with my secrets…_

 _You are instrumental in all the happiest moments of my life, Aunt. Do not doubt that._

 _Do not let Celebrían hear that, she might not be too happy to._

Elrond only sighed in response.

 _I am happy for you, though, I truly am,_ Galadriel reiterated _. Can you sense anything about the child?_

 _No. Would you look into the Mirror?_

 _I can, but are you certain you want me to? Sometimes it is better not to know._

 _You would find out sooner or later, and if it is something dark, I would not leave you to carry the burden alone. Yes, I want to know._

And so Galadriel went, and looked, and took great care to hide her fears and worries about her daughter's safety deep inside her before she contacted Elrond again, letting only her joy show. _It is not a child, Elrond,_ she told him with a smile. _It is children._

-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-

For elven nisi, childbirth did not normally present the danger it did for those of Men, but twins were a different case. Twins always meant a potential danger for the mother, during pregnancy and in labour both.

Galadriel, she had to admit, was worried.

She remembered well how hard the drain was for her when she was carrying one child, and the knowledge that her own daughter would have to give twice as much, and that she likely had less to give from...it was alarming.

She knew the story of Míriel too well, and too well remembered what grief it led to.

She tried to be hopeful, she tried to think of Aunt Nerdanel more, the lady who had gone through six pregnancies, one of them with twins, and still had fire enough left to stand up to her husband.

But she had heard rumours too, back those milennia ago in Aman, about how Nerdanel's statues were never quite as good or as frequently made after she had children as before them. She herself had been sometimes compared, by those who remembered her, to "young Nerdanel, before she married". And so not even the memory of Nerdanel gave her as much hope as it should have.

She tried to warn Elrond without alarming him. He was an excellent healer, after all, and was aware of most of the dangers himself, so she only gently reminded him and then went to Rivendell when the time came for the birth itself.

Lindórinand could do without her and the protection the ring provided for a while. If something happened to Celebrían while she was not by her side, she would never forgive herself.

Amroth was understanding enough when she told him she wished to leave, only asked her not to tarry too long after the children were born and everyone's health was ensured. He was more confident now in his role of the king, after the century he had to get used to it, but he was still as unhappy with it as ever. "If only my own people wouldn't see it as betrayal," he had told her, "I'd leave the rule to Celeborn and you and just go."

"Go where?" She asked him.

"I don't even know myself. Perhaps travel, perhaps go live with Thranduil for a time, try to help him. Just...away from the royal house, where everything reminds me of my father."

As it was, he at least spent as much time as he could on walks in the forest, and Galadriel and Celeborn both being absent at the same time would force him to give much more of it to his royal duties. And so Galadriel promised to come back as soon as possible.

She could sense Celebrían welcomed her with mixed feelings in Rivendell, or even stronger mixed feelings than was usual.

"Elrond is a capable healer, Mother," she said. "I am sure everything would have gone smoothly."

"He is also a new father," Galadriel replied. "Even he might get flustered under such circumstances. Besides, you know he has never sat in for a birth. It is, traditionally, work for the nisi."

"I want him there with me."

"Yes, I am aware."

Celebrían seemed to wait for something more, and Galadriel sighed. "I do not object," she said, "not that I think it would stop you. Perhaps if he was not a healer, I would have – the birth is not a pretty thing to look at, and not all neri could bear it easily – but he is one. He has been called to assists when there were unforeseen complications after birth enough times. Being present will do him no harm."

"But you want to be in charge." It was not a question.

"It was Elrond who asked me for that, because of my superior experience with childbirth. But it will be you, chiefly, who is in charge."

Celebrían scoffed, and Galadriel sighed again.

She did not wish to argue. She could sense that Celebrían had noticed certain nervousness the healers around her felt, and as a result, the new mother was a little worried herself, and masking it by being more contrary towards Galadriel than usual, just as before the wedding.

The Nolde smiled a little to herself as she went to talk to Elrond. Celeborn insisted Celebrían did not have his faults, but sometimes, they did shine through a little.

When the birth itself came, however, Celebrían was done with complaining, and followed all the advice Galadriel gave on increasing her comfort and making the matter quicker. The birth of twins was never going to be easy, or short.

It took several hours for the first child to come to the world, a boy who, as far as could be told from a newborn baby, was a spitting image of his father. Elrond took him from Galadriel immediately, and in that moment of respite, Celebrían held her son and Galadriel busied herself elsewhere to give them some privacy.

Soon enough, however, Elrond took the child from his wife to wash him and wrap him, as Celebrían prepared for more labour. No name was forthcoming, Galadriel noticed. She was not truly surprised. She did not expect Celebrían to follow the Noldorin naming tradition. In all she did and how she lived, except the regard for royal authority, Celebrían was a Sinda.

Elrond took care of the first child and handed him out of the room to Celeborn, who was waiting for just such occasion. Then, Celebrían needed their help again.

"How long, Mother?" She asked at one point, exhausted. The birth might not be as dangerous for elves as it was for the Second-born, but it was no less hard work.

"Not long," Galadriel reassured her. "I can see the child already. Just a while more. Have strength, beloved. Have strength."

And, true to her words, not long after the second son came into the world as well, and after setting eyes on him, Celebrían fell into grateful, exhausted sleep.

-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-

AN: I just can't write bliss. This was supposed to be a chapter about how happy Elrond and Celebrían are together, and instead, I ended up effectively discussing rape in Middle-Earth and the chances of dying in childbirth. Go figure.


	73. Icon

**Chapter 73: Icon**

 _Year 240 of the Third Age, Lindórinand_

Galadriel had only been gone a month for the birth of Elladan and Elrohir, Elrond's and Celebrían's twin sons, but still, when she came back, the mellyrn were noticeably weaker and looked as if frost made them shrivel. It took a long time to nurture them back to health, and after that, Galadriel never took the ring out of Lindórinand again.

It did not mean she never left herself, but there was only one she trusted enough to lend him the ring and who, at the same time, had enough knowledge of this kind of spells to be at least able to maintain the healing air in her absence, and enough knowledge of her and closeness to her to provide continuity to the ring's power. So she and Celeborn never left Lindórinand at the same time, and when the time came for Celebrían to give birth once again, it looked for a while as if she would have to choose which of her parents would be present.

Galadriel had fully expected Celeborn to go, and as the second birth of one child should be safe enough, she was not worried, or hurt. Celebrían surprised them both, however, by choosing to give birth in Lindórinand instead.

Elrond acquiesced happily enough, noting that the healing air the forest had thanks to the ring on Galadriel's finger made it an ideal place anyway, and regretted it had not occurred to him when Celebrían was expecting the twins.

Galadriel did not think Celebrían would have agreed then. She had still been new in her role of the Lady of Rivendell, and she might have found it undesirable to give birth to its young lords elsewhere.

But a century changed things, and Celebrían was now confident in her role and happily came to Lindórinand while it was still easy for her to travel, to rest and prepare for her new child.

Her sons came with her, to Celeborn's great joy, though Galadriel felt it might make the job of resting a little harder. They had been adults for a while now, but there was a youthful spirit in them, and in a great contrast to their mother, they could not tolerate peace and calm for too long before growing impatient.

"I could not come here without them," Celebrían said in response to Galadriel's observation. "You know how much they love the forest."

It was true. The twins inherited their mother's love for nature and things that grew, though they showed it with such insatiable joy and eagerness that was more reminiscent of Avorneth when she was young. That was a painful memory, for it was impossible to remember that without remembering Mírdan as well, and so Galadriel refrained from mentioning it to those who knew him, except to Celeborn in privacy.

The birth of Elladan and Elrohir had brought much joy, but in spite of that, it also brought grief in many small ways, in the memories they awoke. To Elrond, the twins became a living reminder of the brother he lost, especially as they were in temper more like him than like their father. That brought fears and worries of its own, too, though Elrodn did his best not to let his mind dwell on them.

It pained Galadriel as well, for apart from Elros, she thought of Eluréd and Elurín, the two young princes lost in the snows of Doriath Yule. She did not love Elrond's sons any less for it, and neither did their father, but every sight of them was mixed with pain and so she was looking forward to the birth of Celebrían's new child in the hopes that there, the joy would be unmarred.

"Will we have a brother or a sister?" Elladan asked her.

"You will only discover that after the child is born," Galadriel replied.

"But you have the Mirror," Elrohir said. "Surely you could look?"

"I could," Galadriel confirmed, "and I have. But I do not control the visions the Mirror shows me, or not entirely."

Elladan frowned. "But you must have seen the child, right?"

"Wrong," Galadriel said with a smile.

In fact, the only thing she saw was that coronation in Gondor once again, indicating that this was the child to which the fate was tied in some way. But still there were no indications it would be a bad thing, and so Galadriel let it be. Perhaps the child would save the future king's life, or something of the sort.

Celeborn divided all his time between his daughter and his grandsons now, and Celebrían was busy with Avorneth as well, which often left Galadriel with Elrond, or with him and the twins both.

"I believe Celebrían intends to ask Avorneth to come to Rivendell with us when we return, for a few months at least," Elrond told her. "I hope you will not miss her much."

"I will," Galadriel replied, "but I am sure Celebrían misses her more, and I am willing to part with her company for that. What does Ealc think about it, though?"

"She will be invited too."

"She might be," Galadriel replied, "but I would be very surprised if she went."

She would not, indeed, as Avorneth herself confirmed the very next day. "But I will go, with your leave," she said, "though I will not stay more than half a year at most."

"Stay as long as you wish to, beloved," Galadriel returned.

"No longer than that – who knows what Ealc would get up to without me!" Avorneth replied with a laugh.

And then the days of leisure were over, and the time of the birth came. Celebrían knew what to do this time, and Galadriel mostly supervised and made sure nothing was wrong. All went smoothly and quickly, however, and she caught the child and put it in Elrond's arms before she even looked at it properly.

When she did, though, preparing to provide the necessary care that followed a birth, she choked back a sob and staggered, sitting down on a nearby chair and whispering: "Lúthien...beloved..."

"Aunt?" She heard Elrond's worried question somewhere in the back of her mind.

Unable to answer coherently, she showed him her memory of Lúthien instead even as other attendants of the birth took care of the remaining practicalities. She had not known Lúthien as a child, of course, but still the likeness could not be denied. She felt Elrond's astonishment, and at the same time, heard Celeborn summoned by her distress. He had been waiting outside the door, and as he entered and looked upon the child for the first time, the same memory assaulted him. "Impossible..." he muttered.

Galadriel closed her eyes and centered herself. "You and Celebrían are very blessed indeed," she said then, to Elrond, still unseeing. "The beauty of your daughter shall be unrivaled. Attend to your wife now, she needs you and wishes to see her child properly."

Elrond immediately turned to do so, though she could sense he was still worried. As Galadriel rose to leave the birthing chamber, she saw him hand their daughter to Celebrían and take the washcloth one of the attendants handed him to clean the child. Celeborn, meanwhile, was still standing by the door, gazing and the newborn babe in wonder.

Trusting that now, all was safe, Galadriel passed him and left the room. She would only disturb her daughter in her current state of mind, not help her.

Her steps took her to her fountain instead. She did not look into it, however, only sat down next to it and stared into the forest of mellyrn instead. They covered the whole of the hill now, and even though they had never grown there, the beauty of them was such that she could almost see Doriath, and feel it, as well, here in its poor imitation that she created in this late age of Middle-Earth. It was too easy to see Lúthien approaching between the trees, singing and dancing. _Oh, beloved…_

The pain of all Galadriel's losses never really diminished, but day to day, she could usually distract herself from it by beauty and love that still was around her. On this eve that should be joyful, however, it became impossible, and she suddenly felt it all, the absence of her parents, the loss of her brothers, the terrible death of her uncle and the insurmountable horror of Findekáno's passing, the two departures of Itarillë, Elwing jumping into the sea, Tindómiel's departure, Artanáro and Sarnel, and most of all, Elros and Lúthien, the two she loved that she would not see again till the end of the world. And she sat on that fine evening and wept, alone on that hill in Lindórinand, surrounded be the trees she had planted, by the safe haven she had created for others, one in which she found no consolation as her heart broke over and over again.

Celeborn found her some hours later, and went to sit by her and embrace her immediately. "Elrond's worried about you," he said, "and so am I."

"And not entirely without reason," Galadriel replied, "but I'm a little better now. Elrond should primarily worry about other things at this time. How is the child?"

"Well and healthy, so nothing for him to worry about." He smiled softly. "He named her Arwen."

Galadriel laughed.

"What's so amusing about that?" Celeborn was confused, and loosened the embrace to look at her properly.

"Don't you see? He named her after me, in his manner." She shook her head. "I'm not certain it will suit her. Lúthien was nothing like me, but of course, it doesn't follow that Arwen will have her character as well as her look."

"We'll have to wait and see," Celeborn agreed. "But the look...it's most astonishing."

"It is indeed." Galadriel laid her head on his shoulder. "I wonder what is the intention in it, for I admit I don't understand it at all."

"Does there have to be an intention?" Celeborn asked.

She looked up at him. "Yes. Come now, you know that while children often bear some degree to similarity to their ancestors, looking this alike simply does not happen by accident. But the Mirror's told me nothing, so as you said, we'll have to wait and see."

She searched for Elrond's mind after her talk with Celeborn, too tired to leave her place of peace just yet, but wishing to speak to him. _Allow me to offer my congratulations properly, and pass them to my daughter as well,_ she said to him when she found him. _I was in no fit state to do so before._

 _Yes, I noticed. I am sorry you had to be reminded of your loss._

 _Do not be – it was hardly your decision_. She paused. _Why did you name her after me?_

He smiled in his mind. _You noticed?_

 _Of course I noticed. Why?_

 _It seemed appropriate in a way. It was your pain I felt after she was born, your loss, and I hoped she would bring you joy as well as she grows. Also, you cannot deny she looks very noble._

 _That she does, but I still would have expected you to name her Lothwen after you saw what I showed you, or something similar._

He hesitated. _I did not wish to...Lúthien did not exactly have a happy fate, did she?_

That amused Galadriel, a sort of dark amusement that often overcame her lately. _And you think I do?_

He seemed taken aback at the question. _No_ , he said slowly, _I do not suppose you do. It will sound terrible, but I really never thought about it that way. I know your pains, of course, but...you are so frighteningly strong, Aunt, they never seemed quite fully real._

 _Of course not. You have enough burdens of your own, beloved, without me adding to them._

 _But I wish to help you carry them!_

She smiled sadly. _Take care of your wife, and your children. They are your responsibility. I have Celeborn, and he keeps the pain at bay._

 _Yet you have helped me so many times…_

Memories assaulted her, of having lived this before. _I had a talk much like that with Artanáro not that long ago,_ she said, trying not to let the pain of memories shine through. _I am your aunt. That is my responsibility. How many times have you helped your brother's children, and their descendants? And you never ask for their support, do you? I see you as my equal in many ways now, but this is one thing that will never quite change._

 _You see me as your equal?_ He laughed. T _hat sounds absurd. You know I will never be that._

That made Galadriel sigh. _You should have more faith in yourself. I have asked this when you first fell in love with Celebrían, and I will ask it again: have I ever made you feel unworthy?_

 _Not unworthy, no, but…_

 _I am simply older, that is all there is to it. I remember things you will never see, even if you do go to Aman one day. But I also carry much guilt that you do not have._

 _It was not your fault,_ Elrond replied, that much used phrase he and Artanáro learned to say so often it was nearly automatic, and which Celeborn never said, showing in one simple difference how he understood her in ways they never could, in spite of them being so much more like her.

 _It never i_ _s_ _,_ she returned her customary response as well, because there was no point in explaining, and she was too tired.

-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-

Elrond left Lindórinand soon after Arwen was born, not wishing to withhold his valley the protection of the ring for too long even if there was no danger they knew of. Celebrían stayed for half a year, though, to recover in peace and have Arwen be stronger and more ready for the journey.

Elrond had come once again during this sixmonth, but now that Celebrían was about to leave, it was Lord Laurefindil who came for her, with an entire unit of soldiers and a small entourage of servants. Galadriel regarded it with a smile, but Lord Laurefindil only shrugged. "My lord cares much about the safety of his family," he said. "Erestor had to talk him down from even more extraordinary safety measures."

"It is natural enough, I suppose," Galadriel had to concede. After all, she herself had never traveled anywhere when Celebrían was this young. Perhaps Celeborn would have been equally protective.

In fact, he was almost equally protective still, of Celebrían, and it reminded her of Ingoldo worrying about her escort when she traveled North from Doriath. Everything seemed to bring back memories these days.

Galadriel would have liked to go to Rivendell with them, to partake some more in the joy of watching Arwen grow, but alas, she had left Lindórinand too recently for that to be advisable. There were other places where she journeyed, though, nearer places. Chiefest of them all was Khazad-dûm, and so she left with the Rivendell party and traveled with them to that kingdom. It was not the road they normally took, but with her recommendation, they would receive a guide, and it would be safer and easier crossing for the child than the High Pass.

Even to Khazad-dûm, Galadriel went less often these days than she used to, but still she took care to visit at least twice a year, especially now that they owed Durin's folk so much for their assistance in the war. She would not let the friendship die, not even if it endangered the mellyrn.

King Vigg welcomed her warmly, or as warmly as any dwarf can ever welcome an outsider in his realm, she supposed.

"We have worries," he said once they were seated alone.

"What happened?"

"The dragons are moving again."

Galadriel frowned. "I thought they've never stopped, for the last two thousand years or so."

"They've been more active, yes, but they've kept to the Withered Heath, for the largest part. Now, though...they seem to be moving, slowly and steadily, outside of it."

"In what direction?"

He gave her a scoffing look. "You know that," he said.

"To the dwarven kingdoms in the Red Mountains," she deduced.

"Yes," he confirmed. "The traders that return from our relations there bring more and more distressing news every time they come. We...might need your help."

Galadriel felt herself sag, if only internally. She did not even need to think to know the answer: "It's not in my power."

"We rescued you-"

She put up her hand to forestall him. "If I still commanded an army," she said, "I'd send it to help you without any hesitation. But I don't, and whatever I say, Amroth will never send his people to save a dwarven kingdom he barely knows exists, and certainly not so soon after a war in which we lost so many. Our people, too, don't have many children in this age, for most ellith lost their husbands or loves. There are few of us, and so Amroth will be even more unwilling to risk their lives than he'd be otherwise."

"And your friend Elrond?"

Galadriel considered. "I can try asking him," she said, "but I believe...Rivendell is the smallest of all elven realms, still, though not much different from Grey Havens now, I grant you, and they might yet overcome them. Still, they're few, so...I don't doubt that Elrond would send all of his army to protect you, but dwarven kingdoms in the Red Mountains are a different matter. If only because to be of any use, he'd truly have to send his entire army, and that would mean he'd have to leave his own realm unprotected for a long time."

The king scoffed again. "Unprotected! Ha! You think I can't guess where one of the Three Rings is to be found?"

"The rings don't form an impenetrable barrier, as I'm sure you know," she replied with a significant look at his finger, where a ring of his own gleamed. "It's true that we live in peaceful times now, but...it's a lot to ask of him."

"It was a lot to ask of us to come hidden to the last war, and yet we still did. You know that the dragons, if unchecked, can endanger you in time too."

"I'm not so certain of that. They no longer have the Enemy to command them, and it might well be that left to their own devices, they'd be happy with the gold. But you're right that we don't know that. I'll ask Elrond, but...well." She hesitated whether to bring this up or not, aware that the king deeply regretted it and was ashamed of it, but in the end, her desire to defend Elrond won out: "You know the dwarves from the Red Mountains fought on the Enemy's side. Surely you can understand why he'd be none too eager to go in their support?"

The king looked away and was silent for a moment. "Not even if we, as allies, ask it of him?" He suggested then.

"It doesn't work that way. As I said, he'd help _you_ without hesitation."

"A pity _we_ don't need his help," he retorted, some sharpness returning to his tone. "This kingdom is well protected."

"Will you be sending out a force to help your kin, then?" Galadriel asked shrewdly.

He looked away once more, caught out. "My people will go," he admitted. "Some of them, at least. But the Nogrod line refuses, and even Belegost is doubtful."

"Are you not the king of them all?"

"I am," he conceded, "but if I forced the matter, I mightn't stay so for long."

Oh, how well Galadriel knew this. "Do you wonder, then," she said, "that if even your own people hesitate, the elves are none too keen?"

"I don't wonder," he replied, "I regret."

-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-

Amroth had not been in the habit of opening his mind to Galadriel when he was still a prince, but as king, he condescended to it, for it made carrying out their duties easier. That was why she knew the moment he fell in love.

"Who's the happy lady, then?" She asked him, joyful that he found love, and that it would perhaps help him overcome the grief of his father's death, and that of so many of his people.

He seemed to hesitate. "Her name," he said after a moment, "is Nimrodel."

Galadriel smiled. "That's a Silvan name, isn't it?"

"It is," he confirmed.

"I wish you happiness in this, and success in your suit. It'd be a very good thing for this kingdom, I believe, if it had a Silvan queen to its Sindarin king."

He smiled at that, a little sadly. "You're getting ahead of yourself. I haven't even told her of my affections yet."

Galadriel was taken aback. "Oh! Forgive me. I didn't realize it was such a fresh thing. You seem very decided."

"It's been almost a year," he admitted. "I am decided, or as decided as I can be."

"Why not tell her, then?" Galadriel asked curiously.

"She..." he hesitated. "Well, from what I know about her, she dislikes the Sindar intensely, and I'd say she outright hates the Noldor."

Galadriel frowned. That sounded much less promising. "Amroth..."

"Yes, I know, hardly the best material for a queen, is it? And yet this is where my heart pulls me."

"I'll not try to deter you, the Valar know that never does any good, but...be careful, and consider before you act. This...might require time."

"Which is why I haven't told her yet," he retorted, and Galadriel had to admit he had a point.

Still, it worried her and she kept thinking about it, and the next time she saw Ealc, she asked if she knew this Nimrodel.

"Oh yes," Ealc replied with a grin. "She's an odd one. She'd be a loner even by Sindarin standards, and likes to do things her own way even more than most of us do. Her singing voice is more beautiful than any of ours, and she could be a competition even for you, I believe. When we still had the Great Council, she appeared there from time to time, and usually did not rest until what she wanted was done. She has a will of iron, bust mostly keeps to herself and doesn't care for others. I don't believe she ever took part in any competition, in spite of the many invitations we offered. How did you hear about her?"

"Amroth met her in his walks in the forest," Galadriel hedged, not wishing to let Ealc know his secret.

"That must've been a truly amusing meeting," Ealc replied, her grin broadening. "There are those Silvan who don't accept him as king, of course, but none refuse him more staunchly than she does. Did she throw him out of her part of the forest?"

"Not that he mentioned." Galadriel wondered whether he had intentionally concealed the depth of her dislike, or whether he was unaware. Whichever the case, she felt sorry for him. It did not seem like there was happiness in store for this love of his after all. As if there were not enough tragedies in Amroth's life so far. Galadriel could only hope it was not true Flame, because if it was and he was refused, she could not imagine him finding the strength to go on as king.

"Is there anything else?" Ealc asked when Galadriel was silent for a moment. "Because I have a competition to go to."

"What kind?" Galadriel asked curiously.

"Dancing."

Galadriel remembered discussing this with Celebrían some centuries ago, and being recommended to go and see. "Would you mind if I went with you?" She asked.

"Not at all. Don't rely on liking it, though – it's different from your dancing."

"That's why I want to see it," Galadriel replied with a smile.

They walked thought the forest mostly in silence, for Galadriel knew that Ealc disliked idle chat. That also meant sthe Nolde did not learn any more about the competition, though, and so when they arrived to the Silvan settlement where the competition was to take place, she was surprised, even before the competition began.

First, she was astonished by how many Sindar she saw among the spectators – and one even among the competitors. Avorneth was on the spot as well, preparing to watch, and Galadriel went to her side. "I expected this to be more of a Silvan amusement," she muttered.

"It used to be," Avorneth admitted. "But it started to slowly shift after the changes Ealc ensured, and after the war, the walls broke down completely, I believe. These people fought together, they mourned their death together. It...makes you closer."

Galadriel only nodded, watching with satisfaction how the people mixed. She even spotted a few Noldor there. That is why she at first paid no mind to all the Sindarin she heard around herself. It took her a moment to notice that sometimes, it was wholly Silvan people who spoke it to each other.

"Is this some sort of particularly Sindarin competition?" She asked, worried. "The language..."

Avorneth seemed not to know what she meant for a moment, frowning, but then her face cleared. "You have not noticed until now?" She asked with a smile. "True, you would not have, they all speak Sindarin to you anyway. It has been the fashion among the young Silvan elves to speak it a lot even before the war – it is an easier language, and one that is more widely understood, so it is more useful than Silvan, and Sindarin songs were becoming popular. And, well...most of those who survived the war were young. You hear it in the Silvan settlements almost as often as you hear Silvan, now."

"How come it was mostly the young who survived?" Galadriel asked, wondering. Elves were not Men, age did not worsen their chances. If something, it was the other way round.

"Amdír," Avorneth replied simply. "He arranged the troops so that the young had the best chances of surviving."

Galadriel sighed deeply. He really had known they would die. It was good of him, she supposed, to try and save those who needed it the most, who had tasted the least of life. But it would have been even nicer to take care that more of his people survived.

 _I know you disliked life by the end, Amdír,_ she though, _but that does not mean your people did as well._


	74. Mementos

**Chapter 74: Mementos**

 _Year 393 of the Third Age, Rivendell_

It was with great sorrow that Galadriel now regarded her inability to travel outside of Lindórinand as much as she would wish to. To Elrond, she could talk any time now, thanks to the rings, but not so to her grandchildren. And to Arwen, especially, she wished she could talk much more often than she had a chance to.

Not that she did not love Elladan and Elrohir. In fact, they reminded her of Findekáno in some ways. Yet Findekáno when he was as young as they were was not always easy to be around, from what she knew from stories, and so in the twins, too, their youth was sometimes very apparent.

Elrond, for his part, saw his brother in them, making the pain he felt when he looked at them even more pronounced. "It makes me think," he told Galadriel, "of how Elros never had a chance to be this young. Not even in the Havens, when we knew – even as young as we were - that death could come any second, and certainly not later."

Galadriel embraced him instead of an answer, because what could she say?

It was difficult, too, that the twins could sense their father's pain, and even though they knew its source, it did not always make it easy to accept. They found solace in their mother, who was able to love them without any complications, and Galadriel could not but think of Celeborn, Celebrían and herself, and feel despair over all these ways in which living in the Arda Marred was sometimes unbearable.

But Arwen, Arwen was a joy and salvation for Elrond. She was a child after his own heart, with a love for lore and an inquiring mind, though she had her mother's grace and perpetual calm. She was, in a word, very different from Lúthien, and that made Galadriel's burden easier. She could not very well prevent herself thinking of her long-gone friend whenever she saw Arwen – it was impossible – but the memory was not intruding on her mind when she talked to her granddaughter, to her immense relief.

Right now, she was sitting with Arwen in her rooms, braiding her hair as they talked.

"The king of Arnor is supposed to come this afternoon, did Father tell you?" Arwen asked.

"Yes," Galadriel confirmed. "It was one of the reasons why he wanted me to come at this time. Have you met him before?"

"When he was still a prince, but yes."

"What is he like?"

"I am sure Father told you that as well."

"Yes, but I want to hear your impressions," Galadriel said as she tied up one braid with a string and started on another.

"I do not quite know what to tell you," Arwen replied. "I was still very young when they were here. What I remember most is that he had trouble speaking Sindarin, and since I did not know a word of Westron at the time..."

"And you do now?" Galadriel asked curiously.

"Father is teaching me," Arwen explained.

"I was under the impression that he himself was not particularly strong in the language," Galadriel muttered, smoothing over one of the strands she had separated for the braid.

"He got better – he says that while the kings usually speak decent Sindarin, their children and courtiers, especially those from Gondor, frequently do not. He says he needs to learn to be able to communicate with them at all."

"It is strange, is it not," the older lady mused, "that when they speak an elven language, they would speak Sindarin. Quenya was always the language of the family of Andúnië."

"If I understand Father right, it was just the family itself who spoke it," Arwen replied. "Elendil and his sons. So when they married wives who did not, it stopped being their first language...and, well, you know how hard it is to learn later."

Galadriel smiled a little at that. "Amonel did explain at length, yes, and even Celeborn has choice words for it. That is the reason why I insisted your parents speak it to both you and your brothers since birth. It is simply amusing for me because I remember Elendil's slight contempt at any elves who were not of the Noldor. He would be surprised at seeing his descendants now."

"If their language is the only thing he would wonder about, they must be doing quite well!"

"Or I do not have such a high opinion of Elendil of Arnor," Galadriel replied, still with a smile. "Do you remember anything else about the king?"

Arwen thought for a while. "Not truly. I do know that I very much wanted to paint him when he was here, because I have just been reading about official royal portraits and the idea captivated my mind. It took my parents a while to convince em to give up the idea." She smiled a little, too. "Mother tried to get me to paint a waterfall instead, I think, or something else I had no interest in. In the end, I was only placated when Father offered to sit for me, with the argument that, being the descendant of both Turukáno and Dior, he was kingly enough that it should satisfy me." Arwen shook her head, laughing at the memory, and Galadriel joined her.

"Does the portrait still exist?" She asked.

"I assume so. My father is not one to throw such things away, even it it bears all the marks of my childish ineptitude." She chuckled. "Maybe he hid it somewhere along with that portrait of you?"

"Portrait of me?" Galadriel asked, confused. She was not aware Elrond had any.

"My brothers found it one day and told me of it, and I would not leave off until Father gave me the whole story. He said it is a portrait Mother has painted?"

"Oh, that one. I have wondered what became of fit." That memory brought a soft smile to Galadriel's face again.

"Mother brought it with her when she moved to Rivendell, it seems," Arwen explained, "and when Father saw it, he wanted to hang it in a prominent place in his study, or in the Hall of Fire. Mother, apparently, did not want him to. He seemed uncomfortable while telling me the story, but I am not certain why..."

Galadriel chuckled fondly. "I can give him advice as much as I want, but if he will not listen..." She murmured. "Of course your mother did not wish for my portrait to hang in any such place," she said then, as an explanation. "She was the Mistress of Rivendell, and it would be unfitting for another's portrait to have such a place of honour. Come, we will go ask your father about that portrait of him you did, and perhaps I will have a chance to chide him a little, too."

That was an idea Arwen could not resist, and so they set out.

Elrond was with Celebrín at the moment, so Galadriel decided to let the matter of the second portrait be for the moment. She had no qualms asking about the first, however.

Elrond laughed.

"It still exists," he confirmed, "and in fact, it hangs in our bedroom. Celebrían always says it is the best likeness of me she has ever seen."

All present laughed, though Celebrían added: "Certainly the one done most from the heart."

"Only because you refuse to paint portraits, my love," Elrodn replied. Arwen opened her mouth to say something, and while Galadriel tried to stop her with a look, Celebrían noticed.

She sighed.

"I never liked it," she said as an explanation to her daughter, "but it is true that in the past, I could occasionally be prevailed upon to paint one. I had done one of each of my parents, and one of your Aunt Avorneth. But now..." she sighed again. "I have more trouble painting lately. The inspiration comes more rarely, and it is more difficult to finish a painting. So I save my energy for those painting that I truly, deeply wish to do."

Galadriel gave Celebrían a worried look, and as soon as she could, she took her aside to speak in privacy. "All you all right? Is something the matter?"

Celebrían smiled, a little sadly. "Yes, everything is fine. It is a known effect, though perhaps I was a little surprised by the severity of it."

"What do you mean?"

"How having children affects our creative powers."

And immediately, Galadriel understood. The mix of things she felt in that moment was hard even for herself to understand: compassion, pity, regret, rage. _Why_ , she had to ask, _why did my daughter have to have her favourite pastime taken from her only because she wanted to have children?_ Galadriel had never been much affected by this, partly because of her own selfishness, partly because she did not _make_ things in the most direct sense of the world.

There was, of course, the question if the fate of Hollin would have been different had Celebrían never been born, but Galadriel refused to contemplate it.

Hollin was not a creation in the usual sense of the word. That was as far as she allowed herself to go.

"I am sorry," she said simply, to her daughter.

"Do not be," Celebrían replied. "It is well worth it."

And that, of course, made away with all the mix of feelings and supplanted pure guilt instead.

Because Galadriel had never in her life fully felt that way.

This conversation left her in much worsened spirits, longing for the company of The Eldest and knowing she could not afford t travel that far.

The day did not much improve with the advent of afternoon.

King Arantar arrived with a large entourage, it apparently being an official visit. As Galadriel stood with Elrond's household, watching him come with the sun in his back, she at first thought the light she saw was from that. It was a moment later that she realized he was wearing a jewel on his brow, a jewel that made him shine so brightly.

It was only with utmost self-control that she kept herself upright and her face impassive.

The Star of Silmariën...she had thought it was gone with Númenórë, lost forever. But here it glittered before her, just as bright as it used to be, just as bright as the Star in her own crown. And glittering, it brought memories.

Of Silmariën, of that noble and wise lady who should have been queen – Númenórë might have still stood had she been Queen – and who bore her injustice with so much dignity and who started the noblest house in all of Númenórë instead. Silmariën, that dear friend whom Galadriel would not meet again until the end of the world. Silmariën, who was one of the very few Second-born Galadriel ever felt she understood or had true, deep friendship with.

And it also brought back the memory of Tyelperinquar, crafting both jewels to be each other's twins and mirrors, for the Queen of Men and Queen of Elves, as he had said. His willingness to do so, in his guilt, the sacrifice he made by that, and his later inability to give such a jewel to his own wife. And that meant memories of Sarnel too, of that precious, precious lady, fiercer than any other warrior, brave until her own death.

When Galadriel finally managed to get herself under control enough that she could focus on the present, the delegation was almost at the door of Elrond's house.

That was when she noticed the ring on the king's finger.

What joy she felt upon discovering that this heritage, too, had survived the fall of Númenórë was obscured by the knowledge that it was her brother's ring, her brother's ring, and this king she did not even know, she saw for the first time, was wearing it on his finger.

She gave it to Elros as a sign of friendship between her and his house, and Elendil gave it to Silmariën out of respect for the fact that that was the line to which that friendship went the most, but now someone completely unknown to her was wearing it on his finger.

Elendil of Gondor must have had it, too, she realized. The Elendil who did not recognize her, who thought she was some unimportant, primitive Silvan. He kept her brother's ring among his prized possessions.

She did not know whether to laugh or cry.

It was not until the feast to welcome the guests that she managed to speak with them civilly, without being overwhelmed by memories, and still, even then, they intruded upon her every time she caught a glimpse of the ring or the shine of the Star caught her eye.

She did her best to distract herself with conversation. She was in luck, for the topic was one suitable for taking her thoughts away from bittersweet memories. Increased dragon movement in the East was on everyone's mind both then and at the council the following day.

The dwarves were growing more and more worried. Arnor, however, refused to be bothered.

King Arantar, a pompous man with a clear sense of self-importance, announced that it was far and that the dwarves were being too alarmist. "I remember those worries from when I were still a prince," he said in his halting Sindarin. "And nothing came of them then. Nothing'll come of them now either, I wager."

"It's not that nothing came of them," Galadriel corrected him. "The dragons do keep moving. Several of them have left Withered Heath a century ago, and made their home in Iron Hills instead."

"Why should that worry us? The Hills aren't inhabited."

"It worries us because we fear it's an outpost for an invasion of the Red Mountains," Elrond explained patiently. "One of the dragons, in fact, has began to move in that direction, according to our latest intelligence."

"Red Mountains clans are no allies of us," King Arantar replied, "and if the dragons move East, well, the further from us the better. It may sound cold to you, but I won't let my own people die to save others."

And that, of course, was the crux of the matter. Elrond sighed, and they moved on to trade negotiations.

"I will send Lord Laurefindil there," he told Galadriel, "with a small but powerful unit. All the reports indicate that these dragons are much weaker than the ones we faces in the War of Wrath. I believe that this strength should be enough to defeat the one dragon who is most ambitious at least, and if Lord Laurefindil judges it to be beyond their powers, we will have a detailed report and know better what to do next."

"I wish them the best of luck," Galadriel replied. "And I am grateful to you for your decision. I am grateful that we will pay back the debt we owe Durin's folk, at least in part."

"I loved Artanáro as much as you," Elrodn replied simply, "and though it was in vain in the end, I will never forget that they saved him on the Battle Plains."

-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-

When Galadriel returned to Lindórinand, she found Amroth in a troubled state of mind.

"What is wrong?" She asked when she had privacy with him.

"Nimrodel," he only answered.

"Has something happened to her?" Galadriel asked in alarm.

"No, no. It is only...we talked about the future."

"Has her dislike of the Sindar diminished, then?"

"Not at all. But she has found it in her heart to make an exception for me."

"Found it in her heart? This...it is a matter of the Flame, is it not?" Galadriel wanted to clarify. If it was not, she would most strongly caution Amroth against pursuing it.

"I believe so," he replied. "It certainly is for me."

"In that case, it was not truly her decision."

"I have seen enough people resist the Flame in my time," he replied, reminding her again of his age, which she often forgot.

"True enough," she agreed, "but Amroth, if she detest the Sindar..."

"Yes?"

She hesitated. She knew that cautioning against the Flame was usually an exercise in futility, and she had never done so before, but then, she had never faced a king in love with one who despised his entire culture and what he stood for before. "This might not be a wise direction to go in," she said at length.

"You say she had little choice," Amroth said a little sharply, "but so did I, so I do not see why you are so ready to chastise me."

"Because it might not be wise to follow your heart on this shore," she said directly. "I spoke to Ealc about this chosen lady of yours," she admitted then. "She lives alone, does she not?"

"Yes. She dwells at the edge of the forest, by the White river."

"It would be very difficult both for her and for you if you tried to make her into your queen."

Amroth gave a bitter laugh. "You do not have to worry about that. She refused me." At Galadriel's surprised look, he explained: "She loves me, as Amroth, but she refuses me as king."

"But being a king is part of who you are, Amroth."

"It is not!" He retorted fiercely. "I never wanted to be king, never had the slightest interest in it, and if Oropher had not been so foolish and prideful, I could have followed my heart unhindered. Instead, I have responsibilities I never asked for, bringing me down every day, and now I even have to do without love because of them? Why did I have to fall in love with her? I never asked for that, either!"

Galadriel closed her eyes in the face of his pain and anger. "The reasoning behind the Flame is one of the biggest mysteries of the world, so do not expect me to answer it now." She said, and sighed. "I am sorry, really I am. It is a great pity that you have no siblings to whom you could bequest your kingdom and go live with Nimrodel. But I have seen too many tales of tragic love to be able to muster too much sympathy for yours. At least she is an elf, and however long you wait now, you know that you will truly be with her one day in the Blessed Lands, and until then, you can have her friendship." She turned to leave, but was stopped by Amroth's words: "I could leave the kingdom to Celeborn and you," he said.

"What do you expect me to reply to that?" Galadriel asked.

"I expect to give you an advice. Should I do it?"

She turned to look at him. "I can hardly advice you in this," she replied. "They are your people, and your responsibility, and only you can know what is that worth to you. I was serious when I pledged my loyalty to your father, Amroth, and no less so when I later transferred it to you. I will not counsel you to abandon this realm in hopes that I will gain it under my control, if that is what you think. You have sat with me in council for many centuries, and have had me as your advisor for a time now. You know my opinions, and my way to rule, as well as Celeborn's. If you believe that being with Nimrodel is more important than staying with your people, and that we could take care of them for you, you will do it, but it will have to be your decision. I can never advise you in this."

"You never shied away from advising me in anything before," he said, a slight tone of mockign in his voice.

"You never asked me if you should hand your realm over to me before!" She replied, some sharpness coming to her tone as well. In spite of everything, this was still a sensitive topic to her. "This is a matter in which no advice should be given. I refused to counsel Elrond when he asked whether he should claim the title of king, and before him, I did not advice Celeborn in this, nor Maedhros when he rejected his own birthright. Some of these choices I might approve, some I do not, but they always have to be made by the ruler himself."

"Or herself?"

"Or herself, yes. Leaving Hollin had to be my choice as well. That is part of the burden."

"And this is exactly why I hate it so much."

Galadriel refrained from commenting. An age ago, it would have made her bitter, now it only made her regretful and filled her with pain.

It was interesting, she mused as she went to her mirror to think about the situation and consult its advice, to see a Silvan who was so staunchly opposed to the Sindar. She was more used to the opposite view, but then, she knew many more Sindar than she did Silvan.

How common was this, truly, she wondered?

Ealc had called Nimrodel an odd one, but then, Ealc was very much Nimrodel's opposite, as far as Galadriel was able to judge. Where Nimrodel lived alone on the edges, Ealc lived in the heart of the realm. Where Ealc was actively involved in politics, Nimrodel kept away from it. How well, Galadriel wondered, could she truly judge how alone stood Nimrodel's voice?

If I want to be an effective help to Amroth, I should get to know more Silvan better, she realized.

It was not that Ealc was the only Silvan she knew, but she was the only one with whom she spoke with any regularity and depth, along with the other two who sat on the council. But they would not provide a fresh point of view. Like Ealc, they lived in the heart of the realm and were involved in its politics.

Avorneth would not help her in this either, for she spoke to the same people Ealc spoke to. Whom to ask?

Galadriel was barely beyond the edge of the capital when she met Feliel, to her marked surprise. "You here, in the depth of the forest?" She asked. "What happened?"

Feliel shrugged. "Oh, I was simply arranging a date of an athletic tournament with the settlement nearby."

That made Galadriel smile a pleased smile. "You continue in your common efforts that started before the war, then?"

"Of course. It has been very illuminating, both for us and for the Silvan, I believe. They have some traditional disciplines that we never even considered, and we have been able to teach them some things, as well."

Quite unexpectedly, Feliel might be the answer to her questions. "In that case, perhaps you could help me with my conundrum," Galadriel said.

"Gladly. What is it?"

"Well, I began to worry that...simply put, that I do not know the people of this realm enough. What would you say are the opinions among the Silvan, in general, of the Sindar and of us? Do they view this kingdom better, after the changes Ealc had ensured?"

Feliel frowned. "That is no easy question to ask, especially as you want me to speak generally. The Silvan are such a diverse group..."

Galadriel waved her hand. "Naturally I know everyone's opinions differ-"

"That is not what I meant," Feliel interrupted her with an apologetic look. "In Hollin, if you asked me, I could have told you the general mood among both the Noldor and the Sindar. This realm is smaller, and yet...it is perhaps that the Silvan live in different settlements and they are in touch only irregularly and without much of a system to it? Moods can be very different in different places in the forest, I find, and even in one settlement there are often differences, especially if it is a bigger one. But that is often a sign that it will split in two soon, so I do not know if it counts."

"That happens so often?" Galadriel asked in some surprise. "She was aware it happened sometimes, but simply for differing opinions…

"Oh, yes, all the time. The settlements are usually organized around one charismatic leader, so when a new one emerges, they tend to split."

Galadriel only shook her head. She feared she would never understand this world.

"In any case," Feliel continued, "if you want a general impression...the Noldor, I believe, are seen in a positive light, or rather indifferent one. I have never met with any hostility, save perhaps one or two exceptional cases, and we are always welcome at any competition we go to, something which surprised me at first. But the Sindar...well, that is a little more complicated. I would say that it depends on a particular Sinda."

"You mean that if he or she is known to them-?" Galadriel began uncertainly.

"That, too, naturally, but not only that. I do not know how much attention you pay to the fashions among the younger elves, but..apparently, as it was explained to me, there are ways, subtle ways, in which the Sindar communicate whether they are from the more conservative or forward-thinking circles. It is the way of dress, the way of speech, the way they do their hair...everything."

"What do you mean exactly?"

Felile thought about how to describe it. "If you would come with me to the capital," she said. "Perhaps I could show you on examples?"

So Galadriel obediently returned, and they walked together until they came across Ornor, one of Amroth's new Sindarin councillors. "Look carefully over what he is wearing," Feliel told her quietly, and when he was too far to hear, she explained: "He had long, ornate robes with much embroidery, and braided hair with carved ornaments in it, All signs of his being among the conservative ones. I venture that if you heard him speak, it would be pure Sindarin, with no influence of Silvan apparent on his language."

That worried Galadriel. "Am I marked as a conservative, then, when I speak with the Silvan in my learned Sindarin?"

Feliel smiled at that question. "Perhaps you would have been, had you not been known to all in this realm. They know which side you stood on."

They continued walking, and after a moment, Feliel indicated en elf standing not too far from them. "This is another good example. Look."

Galadriel did, and when they passed, she said: "It is the opposite, is it not? Now that I know what to look for..."

"Indeed."

"Her dress was brightly coloured, much more so than is usual with the Sindar," Galadriel noted. "And her hair was let down freely."

"Yes. There was almost no embroidery on her clothes, too, and her skirt was a little shorter than is usual among either the Sindar or us. If she walked into a Silvan settlement – _when_ she does, since I have no doubt she does so frequently – she would be welcome as freely as any Noldo or Silvan. The other elf, on the other hand..."

"Ornor."

"You know him?" Feliel was surprised.

"He sits on the council."

Feliel frowned. "That is not a good thing. If he walked into a Silvan settlement, he would face very cold treatment, at least until he proved in some way that he was not from among those who despised them."

Recalling his opinions from the council, Galadriel rather doubted he could do so successfully.

Feliel left for the Noldorin city shortly thereafter, and Galadriel resumed her walk to her original destination, thinking about the growth of this realm. It was, she mused, rather like the mellyrn. She had planted a few of them at the top of the hill with her fountain, and now not only was the whole hill and the part nearest to it covered with them, but they were slowly appearing in other parts of the forest, so that she was sometimes surprised when she came across one.

So, too, first the Sindar and then the Noldor came to Lindórinand, and kept to themselves at first and prospered, but in time, started to spread among its original inhabitants. She could only hope that neither the trees no elves would be any worse for it. The elves it seemed to do good so far. Certainly the realm was happier now, less tense, than it had been when she first came. And it appeared that Nimrodel truly was an outlier. Not if only this good trend could continue, and if the trees could follow it as well.


	75. Incomprehension

**Chapter 75: Incomprehension**

 _Year 542 of the Third Age, Lindórinand_

"There are some joyful news from Greenwood at last," Amroth said at the next council.

Galadriel raised her head. That would be encouraging indeed. From what they knew. Thranduil became almost entirely consumed by grief on the death of his father, and closed his realm even more than it had been before. Celeborn was no longer admitted to the king's presence. If someone wanted to speak to Thranduil, Amorth himself had to go. In spite of all, Thranduil could not quite deny his childhood friend.

Lindórinand's king had returned from one such trip now, and apparently with good news.

"What is it?" Galadriel asked.

"Thranduil found an elleth he wishes to marry," Amroth replied.

Ealc scoffed. "While that's indubitably nice for him, I rather hoped you'd say something of a more political nature."

Galadriel frowned. "This might be important, actually," she said. "It might signify that he's moving away from grief."

"Well, he only spoke of it as a distant wish, a plan for some day much later, when more time since his father's death will have passed," Amroth clarified, with a catch in his voice that indicated he could not help but remember it had been his own father, too, who had perished at the same time.

"It's been more than half a millennium," Ealc said with another scoff, and Amorth only gave her a long look in response.

She refused to be cowed, however. "I know wounds like that never heal," she replied. "You don't have to teach me that. Two thirds of my people died in the war, many of them my good friends. But half a millennium is enough for anyone to get over the first acute pain of grief, and if he's waiting for further improvement, he'll be waiting forever."

Ealc, Galadriel had to admit, was probably right. Still, it was not exactly wise to speak so bluntly to Amroth. He did not react, though, and instead said: "At any rate, him even contemplating arriage is a significant change for the better. And there's one other interesting thing about this matter. The elleth in question is Silvan."

"Interesting how?" Ealc asked pointedly.

Amroth sighed. "For all that Oropher accepted many Silvan customs at his court," he said, "I'm completely certain he wouldn't have condoned his only son and heir marrying anyone but Sindarin nobility from Doriath. That Thranduil plans to do just that might indicate he doesn't intend to follow in his father's footsteps so closely."

"No indeed," Ornor muttered. "It's a good thing his father didn't live long enough to see this."

"It could also merely indicate that he feels the Flame of the One for his chosen bride," Celeborn pointed out, ignoring the murmur. It was frequently the only thing to be done about Ornor.

"He does, without a doubt," Amroth replied, with a fleeting look at Galadriel, "but had he been determined to do as his father did, he wouldn't marry her anyway."

Galadriel found it a strange coincidence that both friends of old should have such similar fates as far as their loves went, even though there was almost no connection between them nowadays. "Do you know anything else about the lady, except that she's Silvan?" She asked.

"She's from the north of the realm, I understand. That brings me to the other news that indicates he's unlikely to wish to follow too closely in his father's footsteps: he means to move the capital of his realm to the North."

"That's the kind of relevant news I was expecting," Ealc commented, "though I'm not sure it's exactly good."

"Does he mean to do so because of his chosen bride?" Galadriel asked in some surprise. This was a radical step for a king to take, especially in such a big realm as Greenwood. Amdír had been forced into moving his capital by what was almost an uprising, and it was only a small move. She wondered what would the people of Greenwood think about their king making this decision for personal reasons.

"Partly, I expect," Amroth replied. "He says it's because after the war, there aren't enough of his people left to make the whole forest defensible, and that the population in the North is the densest, so it makes the most sense to move it there. The hills, also, will make it easier to defend when the war returns. But I believe his chosen bride does play a part in it."

"What's to happen to Amon Lanc?" Celeborn inquired.

"If I understood him correctly, they mean to abandon the entire south of the forest for good."

"What a waste," Ornor murmured, and this time, Galadriel had to agree with him. Though if Thranduil truly feared not being able to defend his realm, then she understood him as well. He had no ring to help him, and Sauron would rise again, sooner or later.

They speculated for a time about what this move might mean for the future of Greenwood and their relationship to it, and then the discussion in the council moved elsewhere. After Amroth dismissed them, Galadriel asked Celeborn lightly: "Is it arrogant of me to wonder whether part of Thranduil's reasons for this decision is also that by moving North, he'll be further away from us?"

"It's crossed my mind as well," Celeborn admitted. "Certainly it'll be less convenient for me to attempt repeated visits, and for Amroth to travel to speak to him, too. It worries me, to be honest. More isolation can't be good for him."

Of course there could not be any entirely good news, Galadriel thought bitterly. But Celeborn had a point. "That's why I asked about the wife he intends to take," she said. "If she's a good, wise lady, she could have much more positive influence on him than you or Amroth could ever hope to manage."

"Yes," Celeborn agreed, "if."

"Trust in the Flame," Galadriel replied, aspiring to stay hopeful.

"I try. But even when I do...well, my king did have a wise and good wife, and it didn't seem to do much good, did it?"

Galadriel would have realized he meant Singollo even without knowing that he was the only one Celeborn ever called 'my king,' without any specification. "Lady Melian," she said, "was hesitant in correcting Thingol in anything, as you know. I hope that any elven woman whom I'd call wise and good would not have the same misgivings."

"You don't blame her?" Celeborn asked curiously.

"I can't say I don't blame her at all, exactly, but...she was a Maia. Who am I to judge? My friendship with Lúthien taught me enough to know that their minds saw life very differently. It wasn't the best thing for the kingdom, no, but she was who she was."

"You give her more leave, I feel, that you'd give to any child of the One."

"You know my respect for the Ainur, even though you don't share it."

"Yes. Its persistence in spite of repeated evidence that they might not all deserve it never ceases to astonish me, though."

"It's dangerous for me to think differently," Galadriel replied simply.

It was an irony of ironies, she thought, that the Sindar, who respected kingship and authority more than any other group of elves she knew, would look upon the Valar with such criticism.

But then, it was true that they had never accepted them as monarchs in the first place. It was hard, she supposed, so look upon them as kings and queens of all when the Sindar were abandoned by them in Middle-Earth.

Eru had a reason for everything he did, and considering the matter, Galadriel realized that it might have been a little too much, the Sindarin loyalty paired with the majesty of the Valar. For all her respect for them, she was aware they were not infallible, and too unquestioning a following of anyone but Eru was always dangerous.

She thought of the sons of Fëanáro, and their loyalty to their father. It sounded like such a noble word, loyalty. Yet how much evil it could cause.

-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-

The expected move of Greenwood capital affected matters of Lindórinand's security as well, since the eastern border would need to be more carefully guarded now. With the Great River in the way, the danger was not too great, but still, adjustments were to be made in case the disquiet that was habitual in Rhovanion showed the tendency to expand.

That, in turn, necessitated a trip to the Noldorin city for Galadriel, who needed to discuss new guard duties for the Noldor with Feliel.

She found Avorneth there, sitting and talking excitedly. "Good afternoon," she said with a smile. "I am glad to find you in such a good mood."

"You will be, too, my lady, when we tell you what we have just heard," Feliel replied brightly. "A new sort of Men was discovered by the Great River!"

Galadriel frowned. "A new sort of Men? What does that mean?"

"Well, they are clearly not elves or dwarves, or any dark creatures," Feliel explained, "and from what I heard, they grow old much like Men, and look like Men...only, well, smaller."

"Smaller?"

"Much smaller. About half the size of a grown Man."

Galadriel stared. "That is...very strange," she muttered.

"Is it not?" Avorneth agreed. "I find the whole story most intriguing."

"How far are they?" Galadriel asked.

"Perhaps fifty miles to the North," Feliel replied. "They are not easy to find, though. They do not have cities, they live mostly hidden by natural means. It requires a keen eye."

Fifty miles, Galadriel mused...that would mean at least three days' absence from Lindórinand, to have enough time to go there and back and even see this strange people and observe for a moment. Still, she did not feel she could let something like this pass by her. She thought of her brother, and of his meeting of the Second-born. If only for him, in his memory, she needed to see this strange new people. If she ever saw him again, he would love to hear the story.

She pushed those musings away and concentrated on the practicalities.

The ring was given to Celeborn to keep the mellyrn alive, and Galadriel, Avorneth and Feliel, all caught up in curiosity, headed North.

Feliel's scouts gave them precise enough information about where to look for this strange new people, but it still took them a time to find them. They were well hidden, in the wetlands at the banks of the Great River. And they were, truly, strange.

Small, smaller even than the dwarves and much less stout, and yet looking exactly like Men except for their feet, which were hairy. What an unusual sight they presented.

The ladies watched them for a few hours, scattering about their little village made of natural materials, mostly occupied by cooking and growing food, it seemed. Then Galadriel decided to approach them.

The one she chose because she was alone, separated from the others for a moment, stood and stared at her in awe.

"Greetings," Galadriel said with a soft smile, trying to be the least alarming she could. She had even dressed wholly in white for this journey, to look as peaceful as possible.

The little woman continued gazing at her in wonder, and then she started to rapidly mutter something in a language Galadriel did not know.

Of course.

Galadriel tried Quenya as well, just to be sure, but that was not understood either. She had vague glimpses of what the woman was thinking through mind-speech, but without her ring, they were not precise enough to go on, and no communication could be attempted.

Galadriel tried a few others of this strange new people, but with equally little success, and so after observing for a while more as the excited chatter about the visitors spread through the settlement, the elves headed back.

Galadriel returned to Lindórinand a little disappointed, but mostly awed. She needed to let Elrond know, and Lord Ciryatan, too. Perhaps one of them would have some insights into this wondrous matter. Galadriel had not thought that after so many years in Middle-Earth, she could still be surprised by something, and yet, here she was.

She tried Lord Ciryatan first, hoping that his long years in Middle-Earth could provide an answer to this mystery, but he was as baffled as she was.

 _I've never heard of such a thing_ , he said. _Are you sure they are not the Enemy's creations?_

The question amused Galadriel. _Completely sure,_ she replied. _See for yourself._

After seeing her memory of them, he had to agree that they look more unlike Sauron's creatures than any other being in Middle-Earth. _Still,_ he said, _where did they come from?_

 _From the East, presumably, since we'd have known about them had they lived in the west._

 _That is what worries me,_ Lord Ciryatan replied.

 _Not all from the East is bad, surely?_

 _No_ , he agreed, _but many things are._

Galadriel did not wish to argue with him, but she could not but be reminded of Elendil of Arnor and his view of the eastern elves. _If he was so prejudiced against the Silvan,_ she thought, _are we as prejudiced against those further away from the Sea? Could that, too, be merely a mistake and a misconception?_

She did not let Lord Ciryatan see these thoughts beyond the most general hint, however, and ended the conversation soon afterwards. Elrond, to whom she spoke next, could offer no light either, but at least he was not worried about the possible evil nature of a people that did not look capable of hurting a fly.

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It had been a mystery to Galadriel for long years why anyone would name their child Turambar, and least of all a king, when the accursed son of Húrin managed to bring ruin to the only realm he ever controlled. She was glad she could not travel much now that she bore the ring, for even hearing the name of the new king of Gondor made her pain over Narogrotto come to the foreground, and any stay in the southern kingdom of Men would therefore, no doubt, be excruciating.

Elrond went to see the coronation, however. He left Rivendell rarely enough as well, and for the same reason, but as there were no mellyrn to wither in his lands and the times were peaceful, he allowed himself the luxury from time to time. And so he had brought his wife and children to Lindórinand and continued south. Now he returned, and reported that perhaps the king's name had been a name of insight. "From what you told me of Túrin," he said when he stopped by on his way back, catching Galadriel as she sat with Arwen, "he does seem rather similar. Very angry – not without reason – and very overconfident. He intends to make the eastern lands part of Gondor."

And so for his father's death, Galadriel mused, many others will die. "I wonder what the people of Rhovanion will say to that."

"I do not believe he means to ask the Easterlings," Elrond said archly.

"I did not mean them. I meant those who live above them – the Northmen they are called, I believe?"

"They are ruled by the Easterlings now. They might welcome his campaign."

"And they might not. I am not certain that exchanging one ruler for another would do them so much good. I know there are stories in Gondor about the cruelty of the Easterlings, but forgive me if I do not pay them too much heed. They are told by enemies about enemies, and thus hardly to be relied on. The Easterlings are no orcs."

"One can be cruel without being an orc. But you are right, the rumors are likely exaggerated." He sighed. "I would like to be able to say that the rule of Gondor over them will be more just, but I remember the colonies of Númenórë too well for that. It is probable that nothing much will change for the Northmen of Rhovanion, except perhaps that some of Gondorin culture could reach them if they truly became part of the realm." Elrond shrugged. "What I said before still stands, though. King Turambar will not ask them. Neither the Easterlings, nor the Northmen."

"He might succeed in his endeavor," Galadriel admitted. "He has a good army, from what I know, and the Easterlings are better at raiding and conquering than at defending their own realms. And Túrin was not a bad military commander, I have to admit, for all his other faults."

"Yes. I suppose had Túrin not lived at the end of the First Age, of all times, it could have all been less disastrous. Less doomed to fail," Elrond mused.

"He was doomed to fail in any case – the curse he bore took care of that – but you are right that had it not been in such difficult times, he might have done less damage." Galadriel contemplated the possibilities. "He was rather like my older uncle in some ways," she noted, "and had Fëanáro only had one human lifetime to live, he would not have had enough time for his insanity to spread."

"You call Fëanáro insane," Arwen interjected, speaking for the first time since she greeted her father, "but was he really? Or was he just...you know...fell?"

"Why did he burn the ships on the beach?" Galadriel returned the question.

"I do not know," Arwen admitted.

"No one does. Not even his sons. He disliked my other uncle, true, and was jealous of him, but had he been thinking at least a little rationally, he would have known he would need as big an army as possible to fulfill his oath. He was fell at the end, certainly, but he was insane as well." Galadriel sighed. "Just as Nelyafinwë was..."

"Was he?" Arwen asked curiously, with a fleeting glance at Elrond. "Father rarely talks about the sons of Fëanáro, but from what he said...they never seemed quite as monstrous as histories make them."

"That is the problem, beloved. No one ever is." Galadriel looked into distance. "I knew them all, the great monsters of our history," she said. "Fëanáro and his sons, Sauron, the Enemy..."

"And _they_ were not monstrous?" Arwen seemed shocked.

"Probably monstrous enough on the inside, yes," Galadriel admitted, "but I have seen them help and give advice and joke around. There was still something of light left in them at that time before the Darkening of Valinor and before the fall of Númenórë. And even the worst of Fëanáro's sons, much as I disliked them, had something in them to attract. Irissë was friendly with them, and it was not for their vile nature, and Nelyafinwë loved his brothers as well, for all he saw their mistakes."

"And Fëanáro himself?" Arwen continued her inquiry.

"Fëanáro..." Galadriel closed her eyes. Fëanáro, she thought, is my dark mirror image in so many ways, my what might have been. But she did not want to say that to Arwen, so she chased away the thought before her granddaughter could catch it and said: "Fëanáro had so much greatness and fire and pain inside of him...a smaller spark might have been enough to set the insanity burning. And they took away his mother – she was fated to stay in Mandos for ever by his own father's decision – and he was the only person in the whole of Arda who had to content with another woman where his own mother should have been, and with brothers that were not brothers at all. Then they took away the creations of his heart, and murdered his father as well. What he did cannot be defended, but it can be understood."

Arwen was frowning, and it was clear she did not quite see. That did not surprise Galadriel – her granddaughter was close to her in very many ways, and close to her father in even more, but she had no fire in her, and without it, Fëanáro could never be understood. "So you are saying that no one is truly entirely evil?" She asked.

"One is," Elrond replied, and Galadriel gave him a warning look. He chose to ignore it, however, and said: "Ungoliantë."

"Do not say that name in Lindórinand," Galadriel rebuked him sharply as the mellyrn around her shuddered.

There was a silence, Arwen looking a little scared, and so Galadriel deemed it good to change the topic. "Where are your brothers?" She asked.

"I think they went exploring with grandfather and the king," the younger lady replied.

"Exploring? I would think they know this forest like the back of their own hands by now."

"Oh, yes. I think they went to the mountains."

"To the mountains? Amroth went to the mountains?" Galadriel's astonishment grew.

"You know they can convince him to do anything," Elrond chuckled.

That was very true. The king loved Elrond's sons, and during their visits, he was the one who most often spent time with them, while Celeborn was with Celebrían and Galadriel talked to her granddaughter. "At least we know they are to be back by tomorrow, then – Amroth called a council."

"I should certainly hope they will be back by tomorrow, since I will be leaving and would rather like to give them a goodbye," Elrond pointed out. "They might not pay me too much attention whenever they are here, but I hope not even they would go as far as to miss my departure."

"Probably not," Arwen commented with a laugh, then turned to Galadriel. "Tell me more about Fëanáro," she asked.

"Why?" Galadriel asked, since the memories contained no small amount of pain for her. When she saw Arwen's slightly hurt expression, however, she softened the question: "Why the sudden interest?"

"I would like to paint him," Arwen admitted, "and to do that properly, I have to feel I know him first."

"I am not sure I can manage that," Galadriel said. "But I can try."

"Please do. Maybe I will even get inspiration for a song, though somehow it does not feel...I do not think songs should be sang about him."

"There is but one," Galadriel admitted, "and in spite of my admiration for your talents, beloved, I do not quite think you can compare to that."

"What do you mean?" Arwen asked curiously.

"The Fall of the Noldor was written by Macalaurë," Galadriel explained.

Arwen's eyes widened. "I have never heard it," she said.

"No. It is not really sung it public. It is too dark a song to break into in the Hall of Fire."

"Do you know it?"

"Indeed, I do." _You do not know how intimately, beloved._

"Will you sing it for me?"

"No." It was said sharply and Arwen gave her a look that was surprised and a little more obviously hurt this time. "I may write the words down for you and you may read it," Galadriel amended, "but do not ask me to sing it for you. It is...too personal." She sang that song in the darkness of the night when her guilt and pain became too much, when she remembered every tragedy she had ever seen. She used to sing it with Findekáno and her uncle in the long nights of Hithlum, and with Nelyafinwë as she stood watch with him in the night, and alone on the shores towards the end of the age, looking West, first standing on the cliffs in New Havens and then on the abandoned beaches of Falas, while she was keeping watch and the others were asleep, for she could not sing with Nelyafinwë any longer. The only one still in Middle-Earth who had ever heard her sing it was Celeborn, and he only comforted, he could not understand.

She could vaguely hear Elrond explaining the situation to Arwen, trying to make her comprehend that her grandmother was not keeping secrets or pushing her away, but in her own mind, the song now rose to the forefront and she walked away, towards the mountains, not wishing Elrond and Arwen to see the tears, tears she could never stop when she sang. "I know where the stars glow, sky's unclouded, sweet the water runs my friend," she whispered, and barely stopped the long wail that threatened to escape her. Alas, blood was on her hands as well. _The blame is on me because I was not there._

-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-

Lord Laurefindil arrived some weeks later to accompany Celebrían and her children back to Rivendell, and Galadriel asked him for a walk towards the western borders of the kingdom. The mellyrn were now scattered almost across the entire realm, and they walked among them, greeting the occasional elves from all groups that lived in Lindórinand and chose this day for their walk as well. It was pleasing to Galadriel than in these days, it was almost as common to meet a Sinda or a Noldo in the forest as it was to meet a Silvan.

They discussed the politics of Rivendell and Arnor for a time, but when they were far enough from all those wandering groups of people, Galadriel said: "Arwen asked me to sing the Fall of the Noldor to her recently."

He gave her a sharp look. "What did you do?" He asked.

"I refused, and she is still offended, I believe, even though Elrond tried to explain."

"No offense to my lord, but _can_ he explain?" Lord Laurefindil asked archly.

"No, of course not. But neither can I, though for different reasons."

"Do you wish me to attempt it, my lady?" He asked.

"Do you believe you could?"

He sighed. "No," he admitted. "I could not even fully explain it to Erestor, when I tried to sing it with him, or at least to him, and he is much nearer to it than Lady Arwen is. But I would try nevertheless, if that was what you wanted."

She shook her head. "You are the only one of Turukáno's people who knows the song, are you not?"

"I am not certain about now, but back in the First Age...Ehtelion knew it as well, but yes, I believe we were the only ones. We accompanied Lady Irissë to Nelyafinwë's lands often, as you know, and while she never wished to listen to the song, we...did."

Galadriel stopped walking and leaned on a mallorn trunk. "You never wished to leave Aman, though. Can you...understand it?"

"I venture I sing it differently than you do, my lady, but then, you sing it differently than Kánafinwë did, do you not?"

"Does. Than Macalaurë does," she corrected.

He seemed surprised. "You believe…?"

"When I still lived on the coast, I could sometimes hear the words of this song returned to me by the waves, and I then sang with them. He is my cousin, in spite of everything. I would recognize his singing voice everywhere. I can no longer hear him, not here in the forest, but that is no reason to believe he stopped singing."

There was a long silence, and gradually, Lord Laurefindil turned to give her a long, intent look. She did not say anything, but after a moment, he looked away and muttered: "I will miss Ehtelion's flute. We sometimes went to the mountains, away from the beauty and joy of the city, and he played and I sang."

"And I will miss my uncle's voice, and that of my cousins. Yet we are what we have, are we not?"

He did not answer in words. Instead, he started to sing.

-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-

AN: OK, so this was a little more than the usual small hint, this time I basically quoted a passage of a song. That means I should probably credit it, so..."Noldor" by Blind Guardian. And yeah, I know it's not actually meant to be sung by Maglor, but the chorus is exactly my idea of what Noldolantë would be like. Most of the song, actually, except the parts speaking about Helcaraxe. So just listen to it at the end of this chapter. And tell me if you cried. I seriously almost did when I imagined Galadriel singing it in the third age.

(Also, I do know that the words "I know where the stars glow" etc are a reference – well, more like a direct citation – of Feanor's speech in Aman, when he tried to rouse the Noldor to follow him East. That's one of the things that make imagining this song as the Noldolante so attractive to me. I imagine Maglor originally writing it with this intention, but slowly as their nostalgia for Aman grew, the meaning for those who sing it would change and it would be a memory of Aman instead...)


	76. Movement

AN: So, legendarium ladies April is here again, and this year, I decided to celebrate it by actually starting to post again.

I'm sorry. I cant even really say what happened. I just had a sudden bout of real life productivity, and felt like I should make use of it, since these things don't happen often, and don't last long. I'd like to say I'll make it up to you, but I'm not promising anything.

Just a reminder for those who forgot what was happening: early third age, pretty much everyone is happy - as far as elves can be happy in the third age – and all is peaceful, except some dragon movement in the East, but that was terminated by Glorfindel for now.

-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-

 **Chapter 76: Movement**

 _Year 704 of the Third Age, Lindórinand_

The mellyrn were growing well and strong under the protection of the Ring of Water, and soon enough, they began to spread further and further from the hill with Galadriel's fountain, into the wider forest. It was not only an occasional mallorn that could be found away from the hill, now, it was a forest of its own created by them, permeating the original Lindórinand.

That, of course, meant some danger for the other trees, which were small and frail compared to the mellyrn.

Galadriel had asked Celeborn for help at first, and he in turn consulted some other Sindar, but none of them had experience with mellyrn, and so none of them could help.

That meant Galadriel handed her ring to Celeborn once again, and journeyed to the last remnant of the Great Forest this side of the mountains.

Treebeard came to see her soon enough. "I need your help," she said plainly.

He looked surprised, as much as he could look anything. "You didn't need my help once in all the time I have known you, my lady. And it's a long time. Even for one like me."

"You helped us in the Land of the Willows," Galadriel opposed. "You protected us."

"Aye, we helped you. That's true. But you didn't need our help. There's a difference. What is it that you need?"

"It's the trees. I have planted mellyrn in Lindórinand-"

"Mellyrn!" A smile slowly bloomed on his face. "Now there's a reason to finally heed your invitation. A reason to come to your forest. I know of those trees. I've seen the images of them in many minds. But I've never met them in person." He trailed of clearly caught in the pleasant idea of that meeting. "But what do you need help with?" He asked then. "The mellyrn are not unhappy, are they?"

"No, but the other trees could be. The mellyrn grow strong and tall, and..."

"Ah, I understand. Yes, I'll help you, to be sure. Not many Men come near this forest now. It should be safe enough to leave it in care of the others...for a time. Expect me in your forest before long."

And he did come, not too much later, before the year was through. It was a wonder for most of the elves in Linórinand, who had never seen an ent in their life, and many came to gape in spite of Galadriel's disapproval.

There were others who had better reasons to go and see him, though. Celeborn greeted Treebeard as an old acquaintance, and was glad to remember his brother and mother with him. The memories always brought grief, but also a melancholy kind of happiness that hid in joyful stories of the past that could be shared. Galadriel left him to it, and he spent several days with Treebeard.

Then, finally, it was time for the old ent to go speak with the mellyrn and the other trees.

Galadriel had intended to stay for the whole duration, but it was a slow, tedious process, and soon enough she was called away by other duties and only came to see Treebeard every few days or so, to make certain he did not need anything.

The entire negotiation took more then a month. When it was done, Treebeard waited for Galadriel to appear again, engaging in what the Nolde assumed was the tree version of small talk.

"If you'll agree," he rumbled when she came, "I'll herd the trees that are not mellyrn into one part of the forest. It'd give the great trees enough space."

"I can't decide this," Galadriel replied. "It's not my realm, and Amroth and the Silvan need to know what would happen and decide on their own."

Treebard agreed to that with an approving rumble. "Councils are a good way to decide things," he said. "Wise way. We have them too, sometimes. When important happenings are afoot."

And so Galadriel called the council and explained the situation. She had feared there would be protests that her trees were taking over the forest, but the mellyrn were too beautiful for anyone to complain.

"I wouldn't want the other trees to perish for them," Amroth said, "but if they're just to be moved, I have no objection.

"As long as they won't object to us living in the treetops," Ealc added.

This condition was related to Trebeard, who returned with the message that no, the mellyrn did not object to being lived in, and so the matter was settled and the moving of the trees began.

This was an amazing thing to watch even to Galadriel. It was slow, so very, achingly slow, and yet it was still no doubt happening and she wondered at the power behind the Shepherd of Trees, the power Lady Yavanna had invested them with, to move what was otherwise immovable.

She entire forest stopped for a week as they all watched the trees move. Celebrían, Arwen, Elladan and Elrohir came specifically for that from Rivendell, and Elrohir was fascinated.

"Can you actually see them move?" His brother asked him.

"No," Elrohir shook her head. "But when I turn away, and then I turn back, I can see that they are in a slightly different place."

Elladan shook his head. "I'm going to the mountains," he declared. "If I tried to wait here any longer, I'd grow roots, too."

He had to go alone, though, for no one else was willing to accompany him. Even Arwen, who usually had little enough interest in nature, watched intently, trying to find a way to capture it in a painting.

Elrohir, meanwhile, felt challenged by his brother and was trying to spot just the moment they moved. "It has to be possible!" He insisted. "It has to!"

Galadriel only smiled.

When it was all done, Celebrían with her children departed and mellyrn and other trees both had room to grow, Treebeard prepared to return to his forest. "Thank you for this, my lady," he said.

"You are thanking me?" She asked, amused. "It was I who needed help."

"Yes," he agreed, "but I was refreshed by seeing the mellyrn and speaking to them. A refreshment I much needed." He gave a rumbling sigh. "Did you know we lost the entwives?"

"Lost? How?"

"We don't know. They're not where they used to be. The lands where they lived were changed. We can't find them anywhere."

"None of them?"

"None."

Galadriel shook her head at a tragedy like that. "Surely you will see them again..."

"Perhaps. I don't know. The world is changing. I don't think it's in favour of ents."

"Do you want me to look into my Mirror?" She offered. "It could tell me if you'll find them, and perhaps even where they are."

Treebeard, however, shook his massive head. "No," he rumbled. "I don't want to know. What will come will come. I have to return now. I'll come back when you have more mellyrn...to herd the trees again."

Galadriel agreed, and bid him goodbye, grieved at the idea of no more ents, added to the many other losses and tragedies of the last war.

-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-

Other travellers came to Lindórinand not long afterwards, and they were much more unexpected than Treebeard had been.

There was no evil intention in them, so Galadriel's spells let them in without her particularly noticing them, but soon a whisper started in Lindórinand, a whisper about a copper-haired elf having come to the realm, accompanied by a human woman.

It was Avorneth who brought Galadriel the news. They met at a singing competition Ealc was about to participate in, in one of the settlements out in the forest, and instead of a more customary greeting, Avorneth opened with: "Have you heard the most recent news?"

Galadriel has heard about a variety of things from the locals so far, but nothing that would warrant such enthusiasm, so she shook her head.

"It seems we have true Avari in the realm, for the first time since we came!"

"From the East?" Galadriel asked, surprised. "What are they doing here?"

"I do not know. I have only just heard that someone saw them – or him, I should say, since it is only one copper-haired elf, and a human woman with him."

Galadriel raised her eyebrows. "Nerdanel was red-headed, and so were three of her sons, and I do not think Nelyafinwë would have taken kindly to being call an Avar. So unless your sources base the news on something else..."

Avorneth shrugged. "You are right, we do not know for certain. Still, he would have to be at least partly an Avar, would he not? Lady Nerdanel's father was not a Noldo, or was he?"

That idea amused Galadriel. "He most certainly was," she replied, but then admitted: "I am less certain about his mother. She was one of those who woke first at Cuiviénen, I know that much. I suppose she was of a different clan. Certainly no one ever called her an Avar, but then, she set out for the Great Journey with the Noldor, so it would not have made sense..."

"It is interesting, at least, is it not?"

"Most certainly," Galadriel agreed, and in fact, overcome by curiosity, she searched these newcomers out soon after the competition ended.

When she arrived to the Silvan settlement where they dwelt, on the edges of the forest, she found the rumours had not been exaggerated: the elf's hair were the exact shade of copper, the sun making them shine bright red.

She had not seen such a thing since Nelyafinwë perished, and she looked now in astonishment. Avorneth was almost certainly right. He was a true Avar, not one of the Nandor she was used to seeing and who were sometimes mistakenly called that by other Eldar.

True Avar, of those who had never set out on the Great Journey.

He was sitting in the grass under an oak, a woman next to him, when Galadriel found him. He sensed her approach, and rose and turned to her.

"Greetings," she said in slow Sindarin, unsure if he spoke the language.

"Greetings," he returned, completely fluent, with a bow. "You are Lady Galadriel, if I'm not mistaken."

"Indeed," she confirmed, surprised. "And you are…?"

"Birik is my name, and this-" he pointed to the dark-haired human woman next to him, with eyes unlike any Galadriel had ever seen, who rose as well, "is my wife, Hana."

Galadriel blinked, astonished, but quickly rallied herself as much as she was able. "Welcome to our forest," she said, trying to sound friendly through her surprise. "From where do you come to us, if I may ask?"

"From many places across Middle-earth," Birik answered. "Do you wish to know where we are from, or where we lived last?"

"Both, if you don't mind sharing," she replied with a smile.

"We come from far East," he said. "I'm Nore by birth, and Hana is what you call an Easterling, I believe."

Galadriel sighed. "We Noldor like to be proud of our lore," she said, "but I have to confess that while I've at least heard of the Easterlings – though I don't know that much more, just the name and some little history – I've never heard of Nore."

"We lived by the inland sea far to the East from here," Birik explained.

"Rhun?" Galadriel asked to make sure. She did know that place from the maps.

"Yes, that's what the Sindar call it."

"How come," Galadriel wondered, "what we have the sea in our maps, but not the kingdom that lies there?"

Birik laughed. "Nore isn't a kingdom," he said.

Galadriel immediately felt ashamed for that assumption. "Of course. Forgive me. Living with the Silvan, I should know that there are other ways to live. Still, we should've had some note of you there."

His good mood receded somewhat as he replied: "I'm not surprised you didn't. Nore isn't...friendly to strangers. They wouldn't have talked to your explorers."

His expression, which had been open at the beginning of the conversation, closed off as they discussed the place where he came from, and Galadriel understood he did not wish to discuss it. Not wantign to push, she turned to Hana. "Are you from around Rhun as well?"

"Yes. That's how we met. We've lived in Greenwood for the last several centuries, though," she added.

"And what made you come here?"

"The king is moving the kingdom North. We didn't want to go – the cold doesn't suit us, and neither do the mountains – and so we chose to try our luck here."

"You wish to stay, then?" Galadriel assured herself.

"If we're allowed," Hana confirmed.

"We'd be happy to have you," Galadriel replied. Lindórinand was not generally welcoming to strangers, much like the mysterious Nore, but Greenwood elves had traditionally been the exception, given the historical ties. It was a little worse since the war, given how many inhabitants of Lindórinand blamed the Greenwood rulers for their dead, but still the custom persisted enough that they were not turned away from the borders. Besides, no one would believe Birik had anything to do with how the war went. Those with no share in Greenwood's power were still treated as friends here. And if Hana was his wife, as astonishing as that was, then she would be welcome as well.

"You should know," Birik added, "that we have two daughters, too. They're trying their luck in Gondor now, but if we decide to settle here, they'd come to live with us, I assume."

"I trust they are good people," Galadriel replied with a smile, "and so they'd be just as welcome as you."

Birik and Hana both bowed their heads in thanks.

"Do you wish to see the capital?" the Nolde asked. "I would be glad to take you there when I return, but I do not wish to shorten your pleasures here."

"There is a stage improvisation competition to take place tomorrow, I believe," Birik replied. "We'd like to stay for that. Afterwards, we'll be glad to come."

And they did, a few days later. Galadriel had a house prepared for them already, and asked them to dine with her the evening of their arrival.

"You're very good to us, my lady," Birik said when she received them at the door.

"I'll not deny," she replied, "that part of the reason is my curiosity. But I will not brother you with questions unless you wish to be asked."

Birik and Hana smiled ta each other. "Ask," he said. "We're used to it."

"I was surprised when I saw you," Galadriel admitted. "I had believed, for a very long time, that my friend Idril was the only elf to ever be granted the mercy of having her spouse gain the fate of the elves."

"Is it true, then?" Hana asked eagerly.

"Is what true?"

"That there is another elf this has happened to."

"Yes," Galadriel confirmed as she led them to the table. "She was my good friend, and a princess of one of the greatest elven realms to ever exist on this shore. He was the son and heir of one of the heads of clans of the Second-born. They married and had a son, and then, in time, they sailed West. For a long time I worried, but when our armies came from the West to fight the Enemy, I was finally secure in the knowledge that they both live in there, happy."

Birik shook his head in wonder. "This sounds like myths and fairytales to us," he said,"and yet I see you say it in complete seriousness. There are truly your people who sailed West, and who came back?"

 _That_ was the part of the story they found difficult to believe? "Surely you must have heard about that from the Sindar in Greenwood?" She asked as she poured out the wine.

"We never had many friends in that realm, to be truthful, and even less among the Sindar. We lived on the outskirts."

"Then I suppose this must be a little strange for you, yes." Galadriel smiled. "I was born in the West."

Birik stared. "Truly?"

"Yes, though we came back a long time ago," Galadriel explained and motioned for them to help themselves to the food that was on the table. Celeborn was dining with Amroth that evening. "Do you have stories about the departure for the Great Journey at all?" She asked curiously.

Birik frowned. "I'm not sure if that is what you mean, but we do have stories about those elves, at the very beginning, who left for the promised bliss of the West. Some become the Silvan, and some were never heard of again."

It sounded very grim put this way. Galadriel's smile broadened. "Well, it is us."

He considered this information. "We gathered that the Sindar were the remnants of that host, left on the shores of the impassable sea...but you are something different still, are you not? Your hair's different, and you spoke of them as if you were not one of them."

"It's true. The Sindar were left on the shore, as you said, but we, the Noldor, and the golden-haired Vanyar from whom my grandmother came, were taken across. Later, the Teleri, brothers of the Sindar, came as well. Most live happily there still, but some of us Noldor...returned."

"I am a little surprised there truly was a West to take you to. It always sounded like a place of legend. What made you return? Was it not quite the promised land the envoys spoke of?" Birik asked curiously.

"It was, at first, for most of us," Galadriel replied. "But evil came even there." She shook her head. "It's a long story. Perhaps some other time. But tell me...I've heard a mention of a legend about you some centuries ago. It spoke, also, of a brother of yours, who chose the opposite fate with Hana's sister. Is there any truth in it?"

Birik smiled a sad smile. "Gilja wasn't my brother, though he could have just as well been, by how close friends we were."

"And Mari wasn't my sister," Hana added. "She was my cousin."

"But apart from that, it's a true story," Birik confirmed. "Gilja found his Second-born bride first. He fell in love with her, and said that he'd find a way to give up his immortality to be with her. I, to my shame, did my best to convince him otherwise. He took me to meet his bride, then, to show me the error of my ways. That's how I met Hana."

"He felt ashamed," Hana continued, "for he loved me, but still didn't want to give up his life. We married nevertheless, in time, and neither of us knew what would happen. But gradually, we realized that I wasn't growing older, or not as quickly as Mari was at least. That was when Gilja told us what deal he made."

Galadriel had never expected that part to be true. "So you truly believe it was an...exchange of immortality?" She asked. It sounded very strange indeed.

"We don't know," Hana replied. "We only know that Gilja prayed that if he would die, I be allowed to live, and that's what happened."

Galadriel wanted to protest, wanted to say that surely, it could not be this easy, not when her brother had lived with his broken heart for so long because he feared the bitterest parting. But then she remembered how she had prayed for Itarillë, that she be spared, and how her friend and her husband both lived. It might have not only been for her prayer, but still...

"Yes," she said. "I suppose the power of prayer can do much."

-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-

The very next day after her dinner with Birik and Hana, Galadriel contacted Elrond to share the news with him.

He, too, was rather incredulous.

 _I will have to come and see those wonders of yours,_ he said. _There must be more behind the grace they were given._

 _It seemed so to me at first, too,_ Galadriel replied. _But then, was there more behind Itarill_ _ë_ _'s grace?_ _Why was she allowed to sail West, and why was Tuor granted that very special mercy?_

 _I had always assumed_ , Elrond replied, _that her grace was because if he was to be granted the elven fate, it had to be in the immortal lands. But if this Hana could be granted the same here...then why did they take my grandmother West?_

Galadriel mentally shrugged. _It is the Valar who grant passage West,_ she said, _but it is only the One who could change the fate_ _of his Child_ _._ _Perhaps I am too influenced by Celeborn, but it seems to me that these wills are not always the same. The One, it seems to me, does not particularly care about where_ _and_ _when he chooses to change someone's fate._

 _It calls into question many things I have always believed about how the world works_ , Elrond confessed. _Yes, I would very much like to speak to them._

 _Then come whenever you have time, and I will introduce you._

He contacted her about the very same thing the next day, though it was not yet to announce he would be coming to Lindórinand.

 _I told Arwen about your discovery,_ he said _, and she has all number of questions, and insists she has to meet these wondrous newcomers as soon as possible._

 _You say it in such a condescending tone,_ Galadriel said, amused, _and yet was not your own reaction exactly the same?_

Elrond laughed. _I suppose,_ he said. _But you did not_ _see_ _her. I do not believe I have ever heard her so excited in her entire life. Elladan commented that had he known this was the way to awaken enthusiasm in her, he would have set out East to find characters from legends for her a long time ago._

 _The twins were not interested, then?_

 _Well, you know them. It caught their attention, but not as much as if I told them there was a lake or a mountain of particular beauty to be found somewhere. It certainly had nothing on your moving trees. They seem fully satisfied with hearing the story from you, through me. Though, to be fair, Elrohir was a little more interested when he heard about Birik's daughters._

Galadriel chuckled. _Does he feel that it is time he felt the Flame already?_

 _I do not believe so. I believe it is merely the idea of other half-elven in the world that attracts him. He never knew any, apart from me and his siblings._

Galadriel sighed. She had never quite realized that, but it was true, of course. Elros's descendants hardly had anything of elves left in them now. It was a long time since they were counted among the half-elven.

 _It will be a while until the daughters come here, from what I understood,_ she said. _They are travelling through Gondor now._

 _Then they have no immediate impetus to journey to you, at least. It is a good thing, for they were there very recently, and truly, we have more than enough to keep us busy here._

 _What do you mean?_

 _Trouble in Arnor,_ he replied, clearly disgruntled. _Its princes are arguing among themselves._

 _About?_

 _Taxes, but I do not truly believe it matters. The actual contention between them is the preference of different parts of the realm._

Galadriel only sent him a question back, and so he continued: _Annúmias is the capital, as you know, but its location is not exactly central, and less and less people live there. Fornost is the most populated city now, and its lord keeps insisting that the capital should move to follow the people. Now that, in turn, is opposed by the lord of Tharbad and the brother of the current king. He insists that too much influence would accumulate in Fornost that way, and that keeping the capital in Annúmias keeps the situation more balanced. And then the lords of the eastern part of the kingdom are contrary to everything, as is their habit._ He sighed. _Elladan and Elrohir have gone there many times as my envoys, trying to convince them to come to some kind of agreement, but with little success._

 _Well, I do not mean to insult them in any way, but_.. _.are you certain my grandsons are the ones who should be sent on diplomatic missions? I do not know if they have the right nature, especially Elladan._

She could feel him shrug. _I cannot leave Rivendell as often as dealing with this personally would require, not even in these times of peace. There is always something calling my attention._

Galadriel thought about it. _And what about Arwen, would she not agree to go?_

 _I suppose that if I asked her, she would, but she does not like travelling much, and as you know, is much more interested in politics of the past that that of the present._

That was true enough. Galadriel considered the problem some more. _Should I send Feliel to you?_ She asked.

Elrond laughed at the suggestion. _I do not doubt that she would be capable enough,_ he replied, _but unfortunately, she has no authority among the people of Arnor. No, we have to sort this out ourselves. I only hope it will not end in a kin-strife._

 _You fear it could go that far?_ Galadriel asked, alarmed.

 _A few years ago, I would have said it was impossible,_ Elrond replied. _But now? I do not know._


	77. Realms

**Chapter 77: Realms**

 _Year 861 of the Third Age, Lindórinand_

After decades of hesitation, Birik and Hana finally decided to settle in Lindórinand with finality. They had stayed in different settlements across the realm during the years, but in the end, they accepted Galadriel's invitation to live in the capital, a place that seemed to tickle Birik's curiosity.

"Your entire realm reminds me of Nore in some things," he commented, "and yet the capital, in others, makes me think of Magrandoro, and of course there are similarities to Greenwood as well."

As it frequently happened, Galadriel was a little lost in what he said. "Nore I remember to be a realm you used to live in. Is Magrandoro one as well?"

"I wouldn't call Nore a realm, exactly," he replied. "It was...or is, I suppose...Nore is its people. Where they stay at any given time is less important that who they are."

"Isn't that true of all of us?" She queried.

"Perhaps, but of them more so than of any other." He smiled, sadly. "I told you that Nore is what I'm by birth, and it's where the first millennia of my life were spent. Magrandoro, on the other hand, is a realm indeed, and we spent a long time there after we left Hana's people. The Sindar here, as you call them, are what reminds me of that, and all the royal flair."

"Is that a good thing?" He did not sound mocking, exactly, but Galadriel was not used to others regarding the Sindarin respect for royalty with understanding.

"That depends. Magrandoro is a happy realm, mostly. But we couldn't be happy there, not entirely, and that made us eventually move west instead."

Galadriel was insatiably curious about those unknown realms, but Birik and Hana offered only little on their own through the years and she did not want to pry. She had the impression they did not like remembering their past places of residence. "I hope," she said instead, "that you'll be happy here. Will you ask your daughters to come?"

"We already have," Hana replied. "They were in East Gondor last I know, so it'll take them a time to come here, but come they will."

And they did, not two months later. One had hair as jet black as Hana, tied in a very long braid, the other was copper-haired like their father. Both had their mother's eyes.

"This is Banja," Hana said, gesturing to the copper-haired nís, "our elder daughter."

She bowed deep, and Galadriel smiled at her. "Welcome to Greenwood," she said, and turned her eyes to the other young woman. "And this," Birik said, "is Tugu, our second and youngest."

The other nís bowed as well, though a little less profoundly, and then she looked around the house her parents had in the capital. "I hear," she said to Galadriel, "that you helped our parents get settled down. We're very obliged to you for your assistance and hospitality."

"It's nothing," Galadriel replied. "I'm sure your parents told you I'm driven by curiosity, chiefly, more than any selfless hospitality."

"There are worse things to be driven by," Tugu replied. "And being singled out by one of the rulers of this land is an honour, in any case."

"I'm not sure it isn't more of a curse sometimes," Galadriel remarked as Birik motioned them all deeper inside the house. "How did you find eastern Gondor?" She asked courteously.

"I'll say that I regard it as very ambitious of the kings of Gondor to call the lands theirs," Tugu replied. "In some places, they seemed to have never even heard of it, and mostly you'd find the authority of local lords respected more than that of Gondor."

"They're peaceful since Gondor came, though, or peaceful enough," her sister pointed out mildly.

"Yes, ever since Gondor slaughtered enough of the people there to eradicate whole villages, the land is very peaceful indeed," Tugu replied in bitterness.

With an uneasy glance at Hana, not wanting to offend, Galadriel said: "Well, the Easterlings did invade Gondor."

Tugu scoffed. "It's not as if Gondor was completely innocent, as if they weren't continually pushing towards the East, trying to expand into those lands. Now they have them, and they don't know what to do with them. And so many died for it, those who bore no guilt for the invasion of Gondor."

"Is this why you chose to go to Lindórinand, while your daughters tried their luck in Gondor?" Galadriel asked, turning to Hana as they all sat down in the main room.

"Yes," she admitted. "Knowing what happened recently, from the refugees of war who had arrived in Greenwood, I didn't wish to go to Gondor before I knew what the mood was...against my people."

"We've fled hate before," Birik observed. "We didn't wish to do it again."

"I hope no hate will find you here," Galadriel said, thinking a little uneasily of some of the Sindar. None of them would sneer at Hana for being from the East, that much was certain, but her being a Second born might be another matter.

"There's always some hate, everywhere," Birik replied stoically. "It only matters that there isn't enough to sour the rest."

Galadriel was saddened by this view of the world. He was right, she supposed, as far as speaking of the Arda Marred went, but still, it was grieving to her that he had such an experience of life. "If you have any trouble, don't hesitate to come to me," she told him, and his family. "I'm not all-powerful, but there's a good chance I'd be able to help, at least a little."

"We've lived in different places in our lives," Birik said, "and your realm is more open than most, with the many different cultures living together. I think it won't be too hard for us."

"It's better now than it was," Galadriel agreed, "and there¨s indeed a mix of elves here that I never knew before, but still, I don't know if I'd call it open. Go to Rivendell, if you wish to see what a truly open realm looks like, even if it's true there are no Silvan, or almost no Silvan, living there. But their door is open to everyone of good will. We guard our borders more firmly."

"You let us in," Birik pointed out.

"You're a small family, and coming from Greenwood. I'm not sure how well a bigger group of refugees, for example, would fare. And I know that if you were from somewhere else, and unknown to us, you wouldn't get across. Certainly Hana wouldn't be let in if she was without you – most people of this realm prefer not to have the Second born come, unless it's an official visit of royalty or something of the sort. Greenwood Elves, chiefly the Silvan ones, can cross our borders freely, but that's all."

Birik seemed to smile as she talked, but when she finished, his sigh sounded more sad than anything else. "You think your land's closed," he remarked. "If you knew Nore, you'd see a different meaning of the word. To us, or to me at least, this realm is open enough."

Galadriel could not quite restrain the curiosity from showing on her face at this point, and he gave another sad sigh. "Hana is why I had to leave Nore," he said. "It wasn't permitted to marry outsiders."

Galadriel could only stare. "But the Flame..."

"The Flame?" He repeated, uncomprehending.

"The love you feel for your spouse, the way you know whom to marry..."

"Ah. Well, by the teaching of my people, one could never feel that for anyone outside of Nore. That is why outside marriages were forbidden."

"But that must have been easy to disprove!" Galadriel pointed out. About a third of the Noldor, she thought, felt the Flame for someone outside the clan, and she did not think it would be that different among other groups.

"Not at all," Birik surprised her. "Our custom said that your mind was to be open to all of Nore, and closed to all others. And if your mind is closed, you can never truly feel the Flame, can you?" He shook his head. "I don't quite know, to this day, how my friend knew what he felt for Mari. Perhaps it was simply fate. But we both walked away from our people, and we were never admitted back."

Galadriel though of Singollo, and of his hatred of Beren. At first, she reflected that he would never have cast Lúthien out, but then she thought of his plot to kill Beren. It was hardly better that what Nore did to Birik, and it was just as efficient a way to ensure Lúthien did not marry this outsider Singollo disapproved of. Was it only because he was Second born, she wondered? Would it have been different had she fallen in love with a Noldo from Feanárö's host instead?

At the very least, she thought grimly, he would not have sent him for the Silmaril.

-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-

 _It is final now. Arnor broke into three separate kingdoms_ , Elrond announced one day as Galadriel was on her way from the mountains back to the capital.

The Nolde wished to restrain the bitter question that rose in her mind, but it was not possible in mind speech, and when Elrond saw her as clearly as he did. And so he heard her and answered: _No, I could not prevent it._

 _I know you could not, beloved. Pay me no mind._

 _How can I, when my own guilt whispers the same._

She smiled without mirth. _Should I tell you it was not your fault?_ She asked.

 _That would work better if I did not, in fact, see your mind_ , he commented bitterly.

She sighed. _Do you know that I could see the_ _bitterness_ _Artanáro_ _had against_ _me for_ _Narogrotto_ _till the day he died?_ She asked.

 _But...he did not blame you. I know he did not blame you._

 _Rationally, no, and he always tried his hardest to push it back and pretend it did not exist, but of course a trace of that was in his mind, and I always saw it when I talked to him. You are a ruler, and as such, you make decisions and some of them do not work out. There is always guilt to go with it in your own mind, and blame in others' minds. I knew Artanáro did not truly believe it, and did not want to feel this way, and I beg you to realize the same._

 _Yet you never blamed me for not saving Hollin._

Galadriel laughed at that, a mirthless laugh. _There was no room for anyone's blame but mine_. She sighed again, feeling like they had had this discussion many times. _I told you this with Númenórë already. The kingdoms of Men are not your responsibility, for all you feel protective about the descendants of your brother. You may help them when they ask, but it is their fate._

 _But on their fate might depend the fate of this world._

 _Yes, but it will be their world, not ours, very soon._

That caught Elrond off guard. _What do you mean?_

 _Can you not feel it?_ Galadriel asked, surprised. _Few enough of us stayed, and some of those who did are leaving now, having lived in a peaceful Middle-Earth for a time. We stay because we made it possible for Sauron to have the ring, and so he is partly our responsibility – together with the heirs of Isildur. Once Sauron is gone, however, our work here will be finished and our time here over._

 _But...you cannot go back._

 _No. All the others can, though._

 _I have told you this before, but I will not leave you here._

 _Elrond, beloved, I will leave this world as well sooner or later. If I survive this age, I will fade from grief in time, however long it takes. I would not have you wait here with me for that to happen. You have a wife, and children._

She felt his anger at the powerlessness, and nodded. _I know. I hate it too._

But she had her duties, and so after a moment of shared regret for both the present and the past, she bid her goodbye to Elrond, with greetings sent to Celebrían and Arwen, and went to alert Amroth.

She found him sitting with Elladan and Elrohir, who had stopped by returning from one of their many journeys around Middle-Earth, discussing the nature of trees around one particular clearing. "Your father has just contacted me," she told them. "Arnor truly broke apart."

The twins exchanged a worried, frustrated look.

"It's unlikely to affect us much, isn't it?" Amroth pointed out.

"You? Yes. Us, on the other hand..." Elrohir replied.

"Not even you," Amroth insisted. "I can partly understand why your father would be upset that his great nephews – many times over – can't agree who'll be king, but surely there's going to be little practical effect?"

"Not at the moment," Galadriel agreed, "but once darkness rises again...three kingdoms are harder to defend than one."

"But...they will be allies, won't they?" Elladan asked, disquieted.

Galadriel smiled a little sadly. "Do you remember your first age history, beloved?"

Elladan seemed unsure what she was referring to, but Elrohir asked: "Do you mean Gondolin?"

"Chiefly, yes. Officially, they weren't only allies, but subjects to the High King as well, and yet they only came to our help once."

Elladan frowned. "Glorfindel should be here," he said, "I'm sure he'd defend the honour of his homeland."

"I'm not so certain. He wasn't your teacher of lore, I expect-"

"No, Father and Erestor taught us that."

"As I thought. So you may not know his opinion on this, especially as I'm aware history isn't exactly your preferred topic and so you were unlikely to simply come across it in conversation, but...He was loyal to Turgon, but he disagreed with the king's decisions very often."

"I'm surprised he didn't stay in Aman then," Elladan muttered. "Shouldn't he have been glad to be rid of his duty?"

"Perhaps he wouldn't have returned to serve Turgon – even though I'm not quite certain of that, his devotion to duty is great. Still, I do believe that had Turgon been still alive and chose to stay, a highly unlikely scenario, it'd have been Lord Ecthelion who stayed with him, not Lord Glorfindel. But your captain was very loyal to Idril, and it was her grandson he came to serve in Middle-Earth."

"It was difficult not to be loyal to Idril," Amroth pointed out unexpectedly.

Galadriel looked at him, surprised. "I didn't think you remembered her much," she said.

"No – I was almost a child still, and in a great deal of pain. But I do remember that she was always very kind."

"Contrary to me, you mean?" Galadriel asked with a smile.

Amroth shook his head. "I was in no state to judge your behaviour. My father hated you at that time, and I simply accepted that."

"Why did Amroth's father hate you?" Elrohir asked, surprised. Apparently, Elrond had not seen it fit to tell them quite everything in his rendering of history. She was more surprised that Erestor had kept it quiet.

Amroth shifted uncomfortably, and Galadriel could see he did not wish to make it known. "Because he was in pain after losing his mother and wife on the same day. He hated many people then," he replied at length.

"That's not the whole reason, though, is it?" Elrohir asked, too observant.

"Why don't you want to tell us?" Elladan sounded a little offended.

"Perhaps some other time," Amroth said. "We should concentrate on the effects the break of Arnor will have on our realms."

Everyone present knew it for the distraction it was, but the twins let it pass for now.

"Even if it didn't have that much of a practical effect on us," Elrohir muttered, "it still touches us personally. It was our task to help them get along."

"What were you doing in Harad, then?" Amroth asked them archly.

Elrohir grimaced. "Not now," he said. "But a century or so ago, before Father judged it was a waste of time and wasn't leading anywhere."

"Well, he was right," Elladan noted. "It was an exercise in futility."

"Perhaps we were just bad at it," Elrohir pointed out. He seemed to be hit much harder by this than his brother.

Galadriel tried to cheer him up for a time, but when it proved fruitless, she finally came across something she thought would get his mind off things. "There is someone in this realm now," she said, "whom you've wanted to meet for a time."

It did not take him long to catch on. "The half-elven are here?" He asked, immediately forgetting his dismay.

"They are," Galadriel confirmed.

Without another word, Elrohir rose and left the room, Elladan just behind him. Galadriel only gave one amused and apologetic look to Amroth before she followed them.

"I do not know if they will be at home at the moment," she pointed out. "You may have to wait a time to meet them."

"We can try at least," Elrohir said impatiently.

As it happened, though, luck was with them and Banja and Tugu were both present when Galadriel knocked on the door of Birik and Hana's house. In fact, it was Tugu who opened it.

"My lady," she said. "What can I do for you?"

"Not so much for me," Galadriel replied, "but Elrond's sons are here, and I promised them I would introduce you when you arrive in Lindórinand."

Tugu raised her eyebrows. "Well, I suppose I can't make you go back on your word then," she said, sounding a little sceptical, and stepped aside.

The moment she set her eyes on the twins, though, understanding dawned in her eyes. "We've heard about the half-elven lord who ruled in the north in Gondor," she remarked. "I didn't realize he was the Elrond you meant."

"There is but one," Galadriel replied with a smile. "Elladan, Elrohir, let me introduce you to Tugu, daughter of Birik and Hana. And Tugu, these are Elladan and Elrohir, sons of Elrond, Lord of Rivendell, and Celebrían my daughter."

That made Tugu raise her eyebrows even higher as she made a perfunctory bow. "I had no idea you had half-elven grandchildren, my lady," she said. "In fact, before hearing the rumours in Gondor, I had no idea about any other half-elven in the world."

"Neither did we, until grandmother told us of you," Elrohir returned. "Or rather, there were our uncle's children, but that was millennia ago."

"You've never met them, then?"

"Not those who were still counted as half-elven," Elrohir explained. "We do know their descendants."

"You do?"

Elrohir smiled a little. "You've probably at least glimpsed them at some point, too, if you were in Gondor. Kings of both Gondor and Arnor," and now a shadow crossed his face, remembering that realm would exist no more, "are from that line."

That seemed to surprise Tugu a good deal. Just then, Banja entered the room, and Tugu turned to her without any preamble, saying: "Did you know the kings of Gondor have elven blood?"

"No, I didn't," Banja replied in a mildly chiding tone, "but I fear there are more things I don't know at this point."

So another introduction was arranged. "I'd have never known it to look at them," Tugu mused then, returning to the previous topic.

"It's four thousand years since Elros' birth," Galadriel explained. "It's a very long line."

"He must have been born not long before we were," Banja observed.

Elladan's eyes widened. "You're as old as our father?"

"If your father is four millennia old, then not quite, but just a few centuries younger. Why does that astonish you so?"

"I don't know, I just….somehow assumed you'd be closer to us in age."

"And how old are you?"

"Not even a millennium," Elrohir admitted sheepishly, and Tugu laughed, amused.

"Oh, sweet innocence of childhood," she said. Then she grew more serious. "I wonder," she said, "if there would be as little trace of the elven blood in our distant cousins as there is in Gondorin kings."

"You never saw the dscendants?" Galadriel asked curiously.

"Never," Tugu confirmed. "Two millennia or so ago, when we left Magrandoro, we passed through the lands around the inland sea and we looked for them. But there were no traces left, no memory of an elven ancestry in anyone from that settlement. They forgot, or they moved away."

"You had other half-elven cousins?" Elrohir asked curiously, and Galadriel left them to share their stories. There were other duties that called her, others whom she was obliged to let know about the fate of Arnor.

Talking to Feliel could wait, but the next group Galadriel went to make aware of the situation were the dwarves of Hadhodrond. It was the only place where she still allowed herself to travel relatively freely, being close enough that her absence from Lindórinand did not exceed a day, and even the mellyrn did not begin to wither quite so quickly.

The dwarves, much like Amroth, seemed chiefly untroubled by the revelation about Arnor – Galadriel, on the other hand, was slightly troubled by what she saw in the kingdom. "You have deepened the mining shafts again, have you not?" She asked King Fili.

"Yes, for there is a wealth of mithril in them," he replied, sharp from the start. He was not her greatest friend, and of the kings of Khazad-dûm she had known, she found him amongst the most unreasonable.

"And haven't you encountered..." she hesitated. "Old things dwell deep under the mountains, servants of the Enemy that ran away before the Maiar could capture them."

"What kind of servants?"

"I don't know. I don't know which ones ran and which ones were captured or killed – the Valar did not confide in me. I only know that some ran, and that they'd be most likely to be found under the mountains."

King Fili scoffed. "We won't stop mining for such an uncertain rumour; and we haven't encountered anything peculiar yet, at any rate."

Galadriel gave the king's ring a worried glance.

"Save your judgement," he said, now with more open hostility. "Do you think I don't know you carry a ring on your finger yourself?"

"That ring, however, isn't one of those Gorthaur has touched." She saw the anger in the king's eyes and shook her head. "I'm not attempting to ask you to give it up, but I'd beg you to remember that it's been corrupted, and be careful. Your judgement regarding how far you should go might well be clouded by it."

"You, begging? That'd be a first."

"Would you have been happier if I'd ordered you?" She asked him archly, tired of his hard-headedness.

"It'd have been more in character, to be sure, and I might have finally had the reason to ban you from entrance into this kingdom."

"Is my presence so very offensive to your royal majesty?"

"The presence itself wouldn't be, perhaps, if you didn't try to tell us what to do every time you come."

"Then you can rejoice that the ring on my finger prevents me from doing that too often," she retorted. "In fact, even now I should be heading back. But, king, I try to give counsel when I'm here. That is what I do, to every elf or Man or dwarf I know. Don't see it as an offense to you, for I don't treat you very differently from my own king."

"But you should," he spat. "I'm not your younger kin, I'm the ruler of the oldest realm in Middle-Earth."

"So you are. But even the oldest realms can end one day, sad as it is, and I wouldn't wish for it to be because of a ring my own people made, under Gorthaur's guidance."

"I know how to keep my own kingdom safe. Now go, before I make good on that promise of a ban."

Galadriel left, hurrying back to Lindórinand to return her protection to it, but her mind was not calm and she only prayed that in spite of the king's sharp words, her warning was heard.


	78. Unexpected

AN: Pesach sameach!

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 **Chapter 78: Unexpected**

 _Year 983 of the Third Age, Lindórinand_

Lord Ciryatan spoke much more rarely through the rings than Elrond did, but this time a thought came from him, sharp as nothing before: _Five bearded neri_ _have come from the West_ _,_ _messengers of the Lords_ _. I will send them to Elrond and to you._

And then silence.

Galadriel tried to contact him repeatedly, but she could not find his mind, something that worried her greatly. Especially as...Lord Ciryatan was wise, of course, and she did not wish to underestimate him or call him naive, but she remembered all too well the last time a supposed messenger came from the Valar.

 _Surely he would not try something like that again?_ She told herself. _Surely he knows that he failed to convince me once and I would warn the others?_

But she could not be certain, and how difficult would it be to put his servants on a ship down in south Harad and sail north, and then convince Lord Ciryatan that they came from the West? How difficult, for the Lord of Lies' most trusted lieutenant?

The ship, she knew, could be a difficulty – if the ship they came in looked like a Telerin ship, well, she knew Sauron could not build one like that. Perhaps a good enough copy to fool some, but never Lord Ciryatan.

That was why she needed to speak to him, to ask for details, but she could not find him, and that raised her alarm. Had the message itself been a trick of some sort, too? Had he been forced to send it under torture, and had they killed him?

The idea alarmed her strongly, and she searched for his mind with all her power – and then she found him and realized why she could not do so before.

She had been searching for him through the rings, but Lord Ciryatan bore Narya no longer.

So not dead, but robbed? She could not communicate with any clarity at this distance, but he did not seem in any distress. So was it a trick? Have they tricked him out of the ring in some way, by claiming that the Lords of the West needed it?

She forced herself to consider the actual possibility that it was genuine, that assistance from the West was sent to them at last. It seemed unlikely – nothing like that had been done the entire long age before, and now it would come before the darkness even arose again? Or was it the dragons that provoked their arrival? That was possible, she supposed, and yet...those dragons were weaker, according to what Lord Laurefindil had said, than any they had known in the First Age, except perhaps Glaurung when he first appeared and slain Ohtarwen. Lord Laurefindil killed the one dragon who had left the Withered Hearth almost on his own and without much difficulty, it seemed, something that would not have been possible with Glaurung when he was grown, let alone with Ancalagon the Black.

But let us say they came to help with the dragons, Galadriel allowed. Why, then, did Lord Ciryatan no longer bear the ring of fire?

Have they come from the West to take the rings from us, she wondered? It sounded very unlikely, not something the Valar would do, but if they included the ruling ring in the taking, they were welcome to them. She would mourn for the mellyrn, but nevertheless, she would willingly give up the haven she had created in Lindórinand if it meant Middle-Earth lived in peace.

But she had learned not to hope for such things, such deliverance, and so on balance, she thought it far more likely to be a trick of Sauron.

She searched out Elrond's mind. He had had the same message from Lord Ciryatan, it seemed.

 _Why are you so insistent that Lord Ciryatan is wrong?_ He asked her.

 _Do you not find the similarity to Sauron's tricks highly alarming?_

She felt him shrug. _You would know better than me._ _I never dealt with his tricks in person. It is true that the Valar had never done such a thing before, not unprompted…_

 _And not before we were in extremis._

 _That, too. I find it hard to believe Lod Ciryatan would be so easily tricked, but you are right, it might be a good thing to stay watchful._

 _We should not put those envoys on their guard, though_ , Galadriel pointed out. _We might learn something of their intentions. I wish I could contact Lord Ciryatan properly, to find out what exactly it was they said to him…_

 _I have tried, as well, but I cannot tell you much more. Lord Ciryatan's thoughts appear confused, to be honest. The only thing he is certain of is that those truly were messengers from the West._

 _That makes me suspect it was some kind of trick all the more_ , Galadriel replied.

Elrond could do nothing more to calm her, and in her worries, Galadriel even lent her ring to Celeborn for a time, since he knew Lord Ciryatan by far the best of them all. But not even he with Nenya on his finger could make any more sense of the situation.

"I believe," he told Galadriel as he returned the ring, "that Lord Círdan doesn't wish to tell us more."

That, too, did little to settle Galadriel's worries.

It was a very impatient month for Galadriel while she waited for the arrival of the mysterious newcomers to Rivendell, and once they did come there, Elrond could not tell her much more. _I sense power in them_ , he said, _but that is no surprise –_ _either_ _they_ _come from the West,_ _or they are some particular chosen servants of Sauron_ _._ _The power_ _seems to be buried deep somehow, however, or most of it does._ _They do not appear Dark, but…_

 _...but neither did Sauron when he was in Hollin,_ Galadriel agreed.

 _I cannot See anything else,_ Elrond admitted _. I hope you will._

 _Come with them_ , she asked him.

 _Why? You know the West and I do not, and your Sight is keener than mine. I am hardly going to be of any help to you._

 _Even if it was true, if they actually are from the West, we will likely have to hold a council to discuss this new development. It would be better for you to be here in person, than for me to have to represent all of your opinions. And if they are not from the West, and managed to trick Lord Ciryatan, I might well need your help._

He seemed surprised by the last statement. _If you truly think I can be of use,_ he said, _then I will, of course, come._

More days of impatient waiting followed for Galadriel, and then finally, some weeks later, the newcomers arrived to the borders of Lindórinand where she awaited them.

"My lords," she said, bowing her head respectfully, and then she looked into their eyes and staggered.

"Aunt?" Elrond asked, clearly worried, but she could not answer, only staring in helpless wonder at the one dressed in grey robes.

"Olórin?" She whispered. She could not believe it, and yet when she looked into those eyes, there could be no doubting it.

"My lady?" He said, and there seemed to be a note of questioning in his voice, of confusion. Could she be wrong?

"Forgive me," she said, trying to pull herself together. "I am Artanis Nerwen, daughter of Arafinwë and Eärwen, wife to Lord Celeborn and advisor to the king of this realm. What can I call you?" The names of her parents did not seem to mean anything to them, which was strange if they truly came from the West, for was not her father a king there? But still, she was so sure, so certain that Olórin was standing before her.

"We have no names," the one in white spoke, "so you may call us whatever you wish."

"No names, my lord? But surely..."

"We know we have lived before," the one she was almost certain was Lord Olórin said, "but our first clear memories are of the voyage across the sea."

Galadriel's mind filled with horror. _No_ , she thought, _no, it cannot be_. "Why?" She asked weakly.

"We do not know," he replied. "Perhaps it was felt that too much knowledge would be detrimental."

"To Middle-Earth, perhaps, but surely you could have been trusted to know this and share only what was appropriate?" Galadriel could not prevent herself from saying in desperation. But then she took a deep breath and forced herself into some semblance of calm, at least on the surface. He might not be her old friend, and she should not speak to him as if he was. "I must apologize again," she said, "this is hardly a proper welcome. Follow me, please, I will take you to the capital and to see our king."

They walked behind her, but before she had time to consider the horror of the situation any more, Elrond appeared by her side. _Do you truly_ _think_ _he is Olórin? The one you told me so much about?_

 _I...strongly believe so. I see clearly enough with Nenya on my finger, and I know the shape of his mind._

 _You certainly allowed them inside the realm very quickly. I expected you to stall more._

 _That was before I recognized Lord Olórin._

Elrond hesitated. _Lord Ciryatan gave him Narya._

 _Truly?_ In her astonishment, she had never noticed. It was a relief, a kind of external verification. _That is another confirmation, then. Lord Ciryatan is wise, and I know Lord Olórin would use it well._

 _Just a moment ago, it would have only worried you more_ , Elrond remarked.

 _And just a few weeks ago, you were inclined to believe they came from the West in the first place,_ Galadriel returned _. What happened?_

 _T_ _his memory loss_ _worries me,_ he admitted. _I_ _t is very convenient, is it not? It means we cannot ask them anything about the West. It seems to me as if Sauron learned from his previous mistake, for did you not caution your people against him by saying there was no one of his name among Aulë's Maiar?_

Galadriel could not contemplate this at the moment, not properly. Her mind was full of Olórin's presence, and of the possibility that he did not remember her, that he did not remember anything. There was no space to think of Sauron. _I understand your misgivings, beloved,_ she said _, but if he truly is Lord Olórin, he could be of such enormous help to us...we must not waste that chance by mistrusting him._

 _You said you strongly believed so, not that you were completely certain._

She sighed. There would be no rest for her, it seemed. _You say he bears Narya now? Let me speak with him through the rings, then, and_ _hopefully we will then know for sure._

Elrond agreed, and so she let go of his mind and searched for the one linked to Narya instead. _My lord?_ She asked carefully, even as she felt him clearly and knew that yes, this was Lord Olórin, there could not be any doubt about it. She fought the onslaught of emotion she felt at that knowledge. Later, she told herself firmly. There will be time for that later, when she was alone. Still, she could not entirely prevent some tears springing into her eyes. This was too much, and she longed to fling herself into his arms, even though she had never done such a thing in Aman.

 _My lady?_ He returned tentatively.

And just like that, that wish was gone, swallowed by his uncertainty. _I only wish to…_ She paused, not knowing what to say. _You truly remember nothing?_

 _The shape of your mind_ , he said, _appears familiar, now that I feel it pressing against mine. But that is truly all I can say._

The shape of my mind, Galadriel thought. That was all. He had known every crevice in Aman, every secret thing she had ever hoped for. He had understood her better than she had understood herself. He was the first to put into words that she wanted to leave the Blessed Lands. What was left of that? _The shape of my mind._ Bitterness rose in Galadriel like a tidal wave.

 _I, and all of my companions, only know our tas_ _k,_ Olórin finished.

 _Your task?_ She asked, trying to distract herself from her more self-centred thoughts.

 _To help in your fight against the shadow that will rise again soon._

 _So the days of peace are at their end once again_. She was more resigned that grieved this time. They all knew it would come, and at least it was a clear answer to why the messengers from the West arrived just now, though she still did not know why they came at all, when none like this came in the previous age. She struggled to care about the question. Compared to Olórin's loss of memory, it seemed insignificant. _What are your plans?_ She made herself ask.

 _We do not know yet. We would like to hear as much as we can from you and Lord Elrond, and your king, too, about this world we came to, and then we will decide._

She hesitated for a moment, but she knew she had to ask, in spite of everything _. Will you stay here for a while, please, my lord? I...missed you._

 _My lady…_ He seemed grieved. _I do not remember you, and I do not remember anything else either. I do not have his memories, and so I am not truly the one you knew. And I am no lord now, only an old man with a task._

 _I cannot not regard you as-_

 _You must, I beg you. As long as you term me lord, you will see Olórin in me._

 _You_ are _him,_ Galadriel insisted.

 _Partly, maybe – I would not know. But how can there be identity without memories?_

 _You are what his memories made you. Even if you do not have them any more, you are their result._

 _Perhaps,_ he conceded _. I would still prefer if you did not call me by that name, or term me lord._

 _What shall I call you, then?_ She asked resignedly. _If you have no name?_

 _Friend?_

She could not prevent a short, bitter laugh from escaping her. _Yet you deny the identity with the one I could have termed friend – if respect did not forbid me – so vehemently._

 _But you still see me as your friend nevertheless,_ he replied mildly, _and I can be that – but I cannot be a lord._

Very reluctantly, Galadriel agreed, thinking that it would be impossible to actually comply.

 _If you are Lady Nerwen, though_ , he continued, the if making her feel like stabbed, _I have something for you that was given to me in the West._

 _So you do remember something?_ Galadriel asked hopefully.

 _No,_ he replied sadly. _Only that when my memories begin, on the ship, I had this, and the knowledge that it was for you_ _to keep guard for a_ _while_ _. You_ _will_ _hand it on when the time comes._ _B_ _efore you at last forsake Middle-_ _E_ _arth one_ _will_ _come who is to receive it_ _._ _Until then, though, it is yours._ And upon these words, he reached into his robes, and when he pulled out his hand, there was the elfstone in it, the elfstone Galadriel had last seen when Ardamírë sailed from New Havens to find the way West.

She almost burst into tears all over again.

"Oh, Itarillë," she whispered, "my beloved..."

 _Itarillë?_ Lord Olórin asked her curiously.

That question brought on a new wave of emotion. _You really do not recall_ , Galadriel said. _From what I know, you were a friend to her these last millennia in Aman._

 _Not me_ , he corrected her gently. _Olórin_.

 _Of course._ Galadriel did what she could to pull herself together. _Lady Itarillë Teleptáli, daughter of King Turukáno of Ondolindë that once was and Lady Elenwë,_ _wife of Lord Tuor of the house of Hador, and mother of Lord Eärendil Ardamírë who now sails the night skies with a Silmaril upon his brow. She was the one who saved all who could be saved from Ondolindë, and she sailed with her husband to the West, her love granting him_ _the elven fate._

 _Of those you name,_ he replied, _only some are names I recall. I know that Eärendil sails the night skies with a Silmaril. But Ondolindë is a name unknown to me, and so are those of Lady Itarillë's parents and husband._

Galadriel firmly kept herself in check. _I suppose it does not matter_ , she said. _Ondolindë is gone now, and all those people are in the West. They are not important for your task._

 _Yet knowledge of history is often important to understand the present, is it not? No, I will learn all that you can teach me._

Galadriel laughed hollowly.

 _What is it, my lady?_ He asked.

 _Only...it is absurd to imagine that I should be teaching you. Forgive me, it will take me some time to get used to this._

Indeed, she thought it would be impossible – Olórin's mere presence made her feel like a young girl again, having to be schooled out of her pride and rashness. Feeling that at the same time as she felt the regrets and grief of millennia for all the losses he was now reminding her of was strange indeed, and she felt lost, unmoored, as if she was a ship floating on the wide seas in a strong wind. She did not know if she was three hundred years old, or six millennia.

But once they arrived to the capital and sat down to council, it was easier to anchor herself in the present, to devote herself to her duties of an advisor.

Especially as she was put rather abruptly on the defence. She had not expected she would ever see the day where Ealc and Ornor would agree on anything, but here it was in all its glory.

"You suddenly appear," Ealc said, "with no identity and no history, but you expect us to trust you? I don't think so."

"You do not have to trust us right away," Lord Olórin replied. He spoke Quenya, but he could understand Sindarin somewhat, from what he knew of Telerin and the little he had learned so far in Middle-Earth. "Hopefully, we will be able to prove ourselves to you in time."

"And what spy," Ornor interjected, "would have a different strategy? To wait in lay until he gains the trust of their victim, and then learn the most important secrets of our fight with the Enemy?"

"Galadriel's certain she knows him," Celeborn pointed out.

"Yes," Amroth agreed. "That's the only indication we have that they might not be lying. I've learned to trust your wife through the years, but this still seems suspicious. Why send someone with so little credentials?"

"Perhaps the Valar knew the lady would recognize me?" Lord Olórin suggested.

Galadriel smiled sadly. "I don't wish to contradict you, my l- friend, but I highly doubt the Valar would let their entire plan hinge on me. They don't trust me enough for that by far." She shook her head. "I confess that I don't understand this part either. I can only reiterate that I'm certain this is Lord Olórin, or used to be, and that we can trust him."

"Even if we could actually trust the Lord Olórin you knew," Ealc said, "he admits that he's not the same person. His memories could have been taken by some evil. He could serve someone else now?"

"Gorthaur wouldn't have enough strength for that," Galadriel opposed. "Lord Olórin was powerful."

"These things aren't so easily measured, to my knowledge," Ornor argued. Unfortunately, he was right. There were many kinds of power, and Olórin did not have the kind of straightforward strength some others, like Lady Arien, did.

"I can't trust the safety of my realm into that," Amroth agreed.

"We do not need your blessing for our task," he newcomer dressed in white said sharply. "If you refuse us, we will go elsewhere where we will be more welcome."

Galadriel sighed. She wished to avoid that at all costs, certainly for Lord Olórin, whose company she refused to give up so soon, memories or no memories. "You're free to leave whenever you wish," she told the one in white, "but I'd hope you'd give us a little more time at least. We could, I suppose, look into my mirror," she added. "It should show something at least."

Ornor and Ealc both refused to have anything to do with it, but Amroth accepted the offer, and so they all headed in that direction.

"Your mirror?" Lord Olórin said on the way. "What is it exactly, if I may ask?"

And so Galadriel explained, and Lord Olórin was amazed. "Your Sight must be truly remarkable," he said, "to be able to create such a device from it."

"Or Avorneth's skill is remarkable, for being able to devise a way to do it," she muttered. It felt strange, so very strange, and so very wrong, too. If there was one who should never admire her, it was certainly him.

"That, too, I suppose, but still. Were you able to predict many things through the times?"

"Too many, I sometimes think."

"Does your Sight burden you?"

"I saw the death of many I loved before it came to pass. Do you imagine it would not?" She answered a little sharply.

He inclined his head. "You are correct, of course. Forgive me."

"No, I-" she was confused again. "I did not mean it like that."

"No, you were correct. It was a thoughtless question. As I said, I have a lot to learn now. About everything." He looked around himself. "These trees that grow here, they are different from any I have seen in Middle-Earth so far. Do they only grow on this side of the mountains?"

She sighed. This was truly unbearable. "No," she said. "They only grow here, under the protection of my ring and my spells. They used to grow on Númenórë, though, and they grow in the West still I believe...I used to walk with you - with Lord Olórin – among them in my young years."

He gave her a look full of compassion, and it was impossible, wholly impossible, not to feel a century old again, confused by her own longings and desires, and listening to the wise Lord Olórin patiently guiding her through them.

Finally they reached the mirror, and she had a reprieve from those thoughts as duty called her. She was glad it was not on her to look this time, at least. She did not know what the mirror would show her, in this state of mind, but it would likely be tied to her past, and painful. She poured out the water from her fountain for Amroth instead, and he looked.

"I don't see them coming from the West," he said when he emerged, "but I do see, clearly enough, that they're here to help and to fight Gorthaur. That's enough for me." He turned to Lord Olórin and inclined his head. "Welcome to my realm, and feel free to avail yourself of its hospitality for as long as you wish."

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Galadriel waited for Olórin to get settled into the house provided for him and for everyone else to retire to their own beds, too, until she allowed herself to weep her bittersweet tears.

Celeborn held her, still sitting by her fountain, as she wondered again: "Why? What have I done, Lords of the West, to offend you so much? To almost give me one of my closest friends back, only to have him not remember me, and to be condemned to be forever trying to find traces of the one I knew in his eyes? Why does even such a thing that is meeting with a friend long thought lost have to be tinged with sadness and grief?"

Celeborn pressed her to himself more tightly, and she sighed. "It is a whole new kind of pain," she said bitterly, "so perhaps that should be something to rejoice in?" Then she smiled, sadly. "Do you know that had I known the Quendi could love the Maiar, I would have tried to pursue him in Aman?"

"You've hinted as much already. Do you believe, then, that my king mightn't have been the only one to cross that line?"

"No, for he'd have laughed at me at that time."

"And now?"

"Are you asking if you should be jealous?" She joked.

"I'm asking how much has your relationship to him changed through the millennia for which you haven't seen him," he replied, remaining serious.

"I've often imagined him at my side during the years, wished for his advice. It's...very different in this way. He seems hardly in a state to be giving any kind of advice now, though I expect he'll be again in a century or so. Nevertheless...it'll be different. Much more equal, I suppose, as hard as it is to imagine."

"That's a good thing, isn't it?"

"In a way. But it's...my friend is here and isn't here at the same time. It's painful."

"I know, my love. But this will get easier through the years, won't it?"

"I hope so. I certainly hope so." She sighed at the thought of the years to pass. "He told me I'd fade," she remembered then. It had been lost in her joy over seeing the elfstone at the time, but now she recalled it.

Celeborn was alarmed. "When? Is he certain?"

"Certain enough, I suppose. But it didn't sound like it'd be soon. I believe I have until the beginning of the next age, whenever that'll be." She sighed again. "I knew it'd happen one day. It's strange to have a confirmation, I suppose."

Celeborn kissed her in answer, and then slowly set out to make sure that she remembered she should concentrate on the joy, even in the darkening world with so many elves passing West, and with her own departure from the world on the horizon.

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The newcomers all stayed for several weeks, studying maps and learning what they could about the general state of Middle-Earth. But one day, as Galadriel and some of her friends were sitting in her house with Lord Olórin and the two blue ones, the white dressed one, who seemed to be their leader, appeared with the brown one by his side and declared that it was time to go.

"We need to set out to different parts of these lands," he said. "We need to find where out help is most needed. I will travel around it, to see the state of them for my own, and then I will likely settle in the lands close to here and around Gondor, to be easily available to all."

"I would like," the one dressed in brown replied, "to go see the great forest that is to the east of here. It attracts my curiosity."

The white one assented, and then turned to Olórin with a question.

"Will you not stay here for a time at least?" Galadriel entreated him again, before he could say anything. "There is more we can tell you about these lands."

"If I am allowed," he said with a glance at the white one, "I would be happy to. After that...I am reluctant to tie myself to one single place, though I suppose that if I had to, I could take care for the lands beyond the mountains, the ones we came through."

The white one only nodded, and turned to the last remaining two, dressed in blue.

"We do not truly have a preference," one of them said. "It seems to us there are many places where we could be needed."

"If you truly do not care," Hana spoke up, "could you head East?"

"East?" The blue one seemed surprised by the suggestion.

"Yes, East. It is my original home, but as sorry as I am to say it, it has often been controlled by evil. They need all the help they can get to fight it. I would be thankful."

"If evil is indeed strong there," the blue one remarked, "then that is the place we should go without a doubt."

"Indeed," the white one agreed. "I will go there with you, since it appears to be a priority."

And so, that was settled.

The other newcomers left, but Olórin stayed for months more, at Galadriel's request as much as his own wish, listening to what she had to say about the world as it was now and the history that led to it being so. He listened, as well, to her tales of how she knew him in Aman, and seemed incredulous.

"That I should have been the wise one between us seems impossible, my lady."

She sighed. "Why do you term me lady," she asked, "when I should call you friend?"

"Because you are a great lady, full of wisdom and knowledge, compared to me. And while you see me as your friend, I cannot see you such, not yet. I am in too much awe of you, for one."

She laughed aloud at that. "I see you have not lost your teasing tendency with your memory."

"It is the truth, my lady."

"Please, my friend, I cannot – if I am not to term you lord, then can you repay the kindness?"

"Very well then, _my friend._ But know it feels like blasphemy."

"So it does, _my friend_."

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AN: I like the version where it's still the same elfstone better, but the rest of the story I had to change, since Galadriel absolutely doesn't live in Greenwood, and also, I subscribe to the version where the identity of the Istari with their Maiar selves is not as straightforward as that talk between Galadriel and Olórin in the Unfinished Tales implies, and their memory of the West is clouded (as explained, again, in the Unfinished Tales, because that book has many different versions of all the stories). Besides, why the hell would it be Yavanna sending Galadriel the stone? What did she have to do with it? Did they rob Earendil of his valuables before they sent him to guard the sky?

Oh and yes, Galadriel _is_ misinterpreting what Gandalf actually said about her forsaking the world. Under the circumstances, it is, I think, understandable.


	79. Return

AN: I see that the last chapter started with me wishing you all pesach sameach, so...g'mar chatimah tovah.

I'm so sorry for staying away so long. I had...a very bad summer. But things seem to be a bit better now at least, so hopefully this won't be a one-off thing I and will post again with some regularity.

A quick recap for those of you who don't remember where we ended: third age, everyone is mostly happy still though Arnor already fell apart. Last chapter, the Istari came from the West, and they don't remember anything from their pasts. Galadriel recognized Olórin.

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 **Chapter 79: Return**

Y _ear 1066 of the Third Age, Lórinand_

Something was wrong with Greenwood, and Galadriel had occasion to curse its stubborn rulers once more.

Thranduil sent no messenger warning them of the descending darkness, let alone a plea for help. Galadriel noticed it as a slight irritation beyond the eastern borders of her protection, and when she prodded more in that direction, she did not like what she saw at all.

She consulted Amroth and they dispatched messengers to Thranduil, but they received no sensible reply, and so they resorted to sending their own scouts to Greenwood.

The news they brought back were alarming.

Apparently, there was real darkness raising in the south of the forest, something more than merely a nest of orcs. The forest around was changing into a dark and unfriendly place. "There is nothing of green in there, my lady," the scouts told her. "It is, instead, full of mirk."

This was disconcerting, and merited immediate contact with Elrond.

 _We do not know what it is,_ she told him, _and we need to find out._

 _Do you have anyone_ _well_ _equipped_ _for such a mission_ _you could send?_ He asked.

Regretfully, she shook her head. There were many highly skilled craftsmen and loremasters and warriors among the Noldor who lived in Lindórinand, but no especially trained rangers and scouts. Amroth's Sindar fared little better, and while the Silvan had many good scouts among them, they lacked the knowledge of lore to be able to identify whatever it would be they would encounter.

He sighed. _Unfortunately_ , he said, _I do have two who are just perfect for the job._

 _Why unfortunately?_

 _Because I am speaking of Elladan and Elrohir._

Galadriel froze. _You do not have to send them_ , she said. _If my suspicions are confirmed, we_ _might_ _have to take council with Olórin anyway-_

 _Your suspicions?_

 _I fear this has something to do with Sauron, and that is Olórin's task after all. I could try and ask him to come directly, and perhaps he would help._

 _Yes,_ Elrond agreed, _perhaps. But we do not even know where he is at the moment, do we? T_ _h_ _e twins are in Rivendell, and could be with you in a fortnight or only a little more._ _And they truly are the best for this._

Galadriel still hesitated. It was true that calling on Olórin was not a natural instinct. Since his first stay in Lindórinand, he had been there twice, but he always appeared unexpected and left when it suited him. He was and was not her friend at the same time, and she was not sure how to act around him. She would, indeed, prefer a different solution, but not one that sent her grandsons into danger.

 _They are a thousand years old_ , Elrond reminded her.

 _That is not my main concern,_ she admitted. _I have watched too many of you grow not to be used to the knowledge that at some point, I have to stop protecting you so desperately. But...I worry about you, and Celebrían, should something happen. I would not wish to have any part in that._

Elrond sighed. _On my head be it, then._

The company from Rivendell arrived in three weeks, and actually contained Celebrían, Arwen and Lord Laurefindil in addition to the twins.

"This is an unexpected surprise," Galadriel said with a welcoming smile. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"It has been a long time since I saw you, grandmother," Arwen replied primly, and then added with a smile: "And there is a number of questions about the East that occurred to me and that I felt I needed to ask Birik and Hana about…"

Galadriel laughed. "Far be it from me to ever expect that you would come only for me," she said. "Go and torture them with your questions, then. I have duties to your brothers to dispatch."

Celebrían, it turned out, came with a rather particular purpose as well. "I want to try and capture what my sons will speak of," she said. "I would prefer to see what happens in Greenwood for myself, but Elrond convinced me it was not safe. However, I want to get my sons' memories when they will still be fresh, at least."

Galadriel was surprised by this. "Exploration on the larger scale never attracted you," she said. "Why the sudden desire?"

"There is just something about the idea of a corruption of a beautiful forest that will not leave me alone," Celebrían said. "I need to capture it, to get it out of my head."

That response did not particularly calm Galadriel.

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Elladan and Elrohir returned with news as grave as, but not much more specific than, those of Amroth's scouts. They have been unable to identify the source of the darkness. Unwilling, Galadriel conceded she had to turn to Olórin.

 _My friend_ , she called, searching our Narya with her mind, _I fear your task is beginning._

 _What tidings have reached you?_

 _There is evil in the south of Greenwood, centered, it appears, in Amon Lanc, the old capital. Our scouts are able to tell us there is real darkness there, but it is beyond them to recognize it. Elrond could send Lord Laurefindil to investigate, but…_

 _I agree, yes, it would be better if it was me – and with no mention of it being your idea, should Thranduil catch me there and ask. He did not intercept your scouts?_

 _He hardly sends any patrols to that part of the forest,_ she explained _, and they were very unobtrusive. You are likely to be less so, if you truly intend to find out what it is._

 _I will do my best._

Then Galadriel waited for news for weeks, and when they came, it was with Olórin in person. "You were right," he said, "Thranduil did notice me, and was very displeased. He threatened to raise an army against anyone who would attempt to use force in his forest, and when I wanted a promise he would do something about the evil in Amon Lanc himself, he replied that I had no right to demand such a thing from him, for he is the king."

"I could have predicted that answer, even without my mirror. What of your discovery?"

"There is, indeed, great evil there. Evil that...might match me in strength, in time." Galadriel was alarmed by that, and sensing this, he added: "Do not forget that I am not as strong as when you knew Olórin in Aman. I do not believe it could overpower him then, but me, here and now..."

"So you do not believe it is Sauron?"

"Do you?"

"I do not know, I have not been there!"

"Look into my mind and try to draw your conclusions. I do not remember him, though I assume I must have known him as Olórin, so it is not easy for me to make certain."

Another reason why this idea of memory loss was painfully stupid, Galadriel thought, irritated, as she examined her friend's memories. "If it is him, he must be greatly weakened," she said at last, "but then, he would be, without the ring and after that defeat. It could be one of the Ringwraiths as well. Will you examine my memories of Sauron? Perhaps that will help with our attempt at identification."

He did so, but shook his head. "He is simply too weak," he said. "I am unable to tell. If we wish to be sure, we have to wait for him to grow stronger."

She frowned. "That sounds like a very strange plan. Without wanting to discount your wisdom in the slightest, my friend, would not destroying him while he is weak perhaps be better, whether it is Sauron, a Ringwraith or something wholly different?"

He chuckled. "But what would you do with Thranduil? I do not doubt you could destroy it as it is now, but is it really worth starting a war with him?"

Galadriel groaned. "There must be some way to change his mind," she insisted.

"You would know that better than me."

"I suppose I would." She paused. "Amroth is our only hope. If he cannot convince him, then none of the other rulers possibly could. This should not be so hard. Thranduil's realm would be the first to face the danger!" She slowly exhaled. "Had I known so much evil would come from the feud between me and Oropher, I would have tried much harder to heal it..."

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Amroth, however, was not successful. "My cousin has quite lost my mind," he seethed after he returned from his personal visit to Greenwood. "I was even willing to promise him that only the Sindar and Silvan would enter his forest, even though I'm well aware many'd die that way, while you and your friends could probably take the evil out without breaking out a sweat, but he said that I was a slave to murderers and kinslayers now, and that he wouldn't trust me."

"In this particular case, it might be a good thing – you are right that many would have died, but additionally, I don't believe most of the fighters you offered would've been able to do anything about the evil at all, with the exception of those who remember Queen Melian or who saw the host of the Valar in the War of Wrath. Swords and bows are no help against the kind of shadow Mithrandir described." Galadriel despised the name elves had given Olórin – there was nothing grey about her friend of old – but he accepted it, and so she had no choice but to go along with his wishes.

"Well, I had to try everything to convince him," Amroth replied quite reasonably. Then he shook his head. "Valar, how I hate being king."

"Have you gone to see Nimrodel yet after your return?" Galadriel asked him, well aware what was the chief source of his frustration.

"No, I rushed to speak with you directly – yet another reason why I hate it so much. But I have reservations about going to her, in any case. What will she think when she sees in my mind that there is evil again, and that one of the Sindar is refusing to undo what she undoubtedly sees as our mistake?"

"You can calm her by explaining it was ours."

"There is little difference from her point of view between the Sindar and the Noldor, I found."

Galadriel laughed. "What a refreshing point of view," she said.

"It is, rather, is it not? I have to say that her different point of view if very useful, if nothing else. It puts the problems I face in a new perspective."

"Perhaps I was wrong, and she would have been a good queen." Or not an entirely disastrous one, at least. Galadriel was beginning to think that even having a Queen not well suited to the role would be preferable to having so much of Amroth's mind troubled by his inability to be with his love.

Amroth shrugged. "It matters little, as she refuses the role."

"There was no change in her approach in the course of the centuries?"

"No. She detests the whole idea of kingdoms – a point of view I can agree with, I have to say, especially since I became king."

Galadriel sighed. "I know I said I would not advise you in this, and I still refuse to, but if you truly detest it so much, I think it wise to remind you that you do still have the choice of resigning the crown. I trust you know me well enough by now to know I am not saying it to further my own ends. I simply do not wish you to be desperately unhappy. I hoped, I confess, that you would get used to your role in time, but..."

Amroth shook his head. "Kingship will never be for me, I fear. I was almost decided to leave, truth be told, before this evil appeared. Now…," he paused. "How could I leave my people when the hour of darkness approaches again? And she will need my protection as well, and I can offer more in this respect as king than as simply her husband."

"Should you not allow her to have a say in this choice?" Galadriel asked archly.

"That is pointless. She does not understand the responsibility of a king, so from her point of view, it is all straightforward enough."

"At least as regards her own protection, you should respect that," the Nolde reminded him.

"How can I? I love her."

Galadriel raised her eyebrows. "I should imagine that was the reason. Should not respect go hand in hand with love? If she decided the possible loss of your protection as king would be worth having you as a husband, that is her choice."

Amroth turned away, shaking his head. "You do not understand. You never had to face such a choice."

"Oh? You believe I never faced the temptation to restrict one of those I loved, to preserve them from danger? Artanáro, when he was young? Elrond and Elros?"

"It's not the same. You never faced this choice with Celeborn. And you are a nis, so it'd have been different still."

"How so?"

He only shook his head. "You have never met Nimrodel, have you?" He asked her.

"No. You told me I should not bother."

"And I did right. You would hate each other."

Galadriel raised one eyebrow. "I like to believe I hate no one, except for the Enemy ans Sauron."

"Not even Thranduil?" He asked with some amusement, some real curiosity.

"No," Galadriel said honestly. "Thranduil I pity, and worry over, and am angry with. Never hate – that comes from his side."

"That it does. Sometimes I'm almost surprised he hasn't attacked us yet – to his mind, you've truly became the epitome of all evil. Sometimes I think he hates you more than he does Sauron."

"It would appear so, given that he is content to let the evil grow, rather than ask me for help."

"Perhaps if you had offered it…?"

Galadriel had to laugh at this. "Do you truly believe that?" She asked.

"No," he had to admit.

"Mithrandir offered," she continued, "and was very decidedly refused, and Thranduil has no reason for a grudge against him."

"Perhaps he discovered he is your friend?"

"I don't wish to underestimate Thranduil, but reading Mithrandir's mind against his will would be very difficult to do, even if he did not guard it by Unwill." Especially given that he wore the Narya, she added for herself. Amroth knew she had one of the rings, of course, but he was not aware of the location of the other two – though she supposed he could make a very good guess as to Vilya.

"Yes, it would," Amroth agreed. "I've tried."

Galadriel laughed. "How did that go?" She asked.

"Most embarrassingly," he replied. "For me, of course."

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"You made a very good choice," Galadriel said when next she spoke to Hana and Birik, "in leaving south Greenwood. It seems there's evil breeding there."

The couple exchanged a look.

"You knew of this?" Galadriel asked shrewdly.

"We've read the signs," Birik replied after a moment's hesitation.

"The signs?"

"I don't know if you sometimes have...premonitions, vague feelings about the future," he said. "I know not everyone does, but I do. I never knew what to make of them, but..."

"My people have a traditional way of predicting the future," Hana continued for him. "It never seemed to work too well to me, but when I saw Birik's trouble, I taught him the practice, hoping it'd perhaps be of use."

"And it was," he confirmed. "With that, I can at least...well, not know what's going to happen, but at least know whether it's good or bad, and sometime I have an inkling to what my reaction should be. This time, I knew we had to leave south Greenwood."

"So that's why you came here."

"Yes, though we didn't lie – we also don't like cold, and mountains."

"This is most interesting to me," Galadriel said, putting the fact that they had not been entirely honest with her aside for the moment. "I do indeed have premonitions, as you've said, though mine are much more concrete that yours, or used to be at least. But I've never known anyone to have them without any blood of the West in them, or blood of Queen Melian at least. Who are you, Birik?"

He shrugged. "No one important. But perhaps it matters that two of my grandparents were among those who awoke at Cuiviénen?"

"Truly? So were two of mine!"

"Indeed? What were their names? Perhaps I know them from stories."

"Finwë and Olwë."

His eyes widened. "You're the granddaughter of Lost King Finwë himself? I had no idea..."

"Lost King Finwë?" She asked with interest.

"That's how he's known in out stories. One of the lost brothers, Ingwë, Finwë and Elwë."

Galadriel smiled at that. "They aren't brothers."

"I realize that now. Somehow, the knowledge that the elves who departed on the Grey Journey were of three different clans, not one, was lost in our memory."

"Given how much we forgot about you, I'm not surprised." She paused. "But why did you think of it now? What does it have to do with seeing glimpses of the future?"

"Well, my grandparents saw Oromë in person," he replied. "Surely that'd be the Light of the West I have sometimes heard mentioned in this realm? So maybe that's why I have this power."

"Perhaps," she agreed. "I never realized just what exactly it meant that your ancestors, as well as ours, were there when the elves were invited to come West. But then, all elves would have the light of the West somewhere in them, since all must have some ancestors who saw Lord Oromë..."

"It would be less marked, though, wouldn't it, through generations?"

"I'm not sure. Certainly the difference in strength between Noldor and Sindar remains even in those cases where the Noldor are the twentieth generation to be on this shore."

"Truly? That is surprising to me. In that case, I don't know what can be behind my powers. I've had them as long as I remember. They were one of the things that let me find Hana."

"I thought it was your friend?"

"Yes, but...I wouldn't have gone with him, had my premonition not strongly urged me to."

Galadriel considered this, thinking about who could have answers to this intriguing problem. "Are your grandparents still alive?" She asked at length.

"I assume so." At her surprised look, Birik added: "I haven't been back among my people since I left to be with Hana, so I don't know."

"That isn't entirely true," Hana murmured, and his face darkened.

At Galadriel's questioning look, Hana explained: "After we left Magrandoro, we thought we'd try our luck back among the Nore."

"I thought," Birik said bitterly. "I hoped."

"We both did, naively perhaps."

"My people are very happy, the happiest I've ever known," Birik said. "The price they pay for it is that they cast out anyone who breeds ill-will and discontent...and never accept any strangers. The conditions stayed the same as when I first left. I'd be welcome back...if I left Hana behind."

"But surely you could have at least spoken to your parents and grandparents?" Galadriel tried.

Birik shook his head. "By marrying Hana, I rejected the values of Nore in their mind. They had nothing more to say to me."

At Galadriel's shocked look, Hana explained: "I believe they'd have spoken to him if it was just up to them – his father, at least, and his parents – but you have to understand that Nore communities are very small. Nothing much happens there that all the others wouldn't know immediately, and they'd all feel the disapproval of others if they spoke to him."

"It reminds me a little of the Vanyar," Galadriel said slowly. "They, too, lived much together. But there was never such hostility to the outsiders...perhaps a little distrust, yes – but then they had some bad experience with marriages of their folk to other clans," she added, thinking of Finwë and grandmother Indis.

"The Vanyar is the clan who went to the West in its entirety, is it not?" Birik asked.

"Yes."

"Well, then, if it truly is a promised land, then perhaps they have nothing to be hostile about."

That was true enough, Galadriel supposed – even the turbulence of the later times had avoided them, by and large.

"I know it sounds terrible told from this side," Birik added, "and I admit I do resent it, a little, but it's also true what I say. They achieve a degree of bliss by this they wouldn't have achieved otherwise."

"Can it truly be called bliss when you aren't allowed to speak to your own child?"

"Perhaps it isn't so blissful for my parents anymore, no – but me and my friend were the only cases, in the millennium I lived there, who married outsiders. There were stories of one or two others before I was born – how it brought them ruin – but of course, I didn't listen." He smiled at Hana.

"This is how we came to Greenwood," she explained. "When we were turned away from Nore once again, we were unwilling to return East, and so turned West instead."

"It is, perhaps, the happiest we've ever been," Birik added. "I regret deeply that darkness is growing there now."

"We'll be happy here as well," Hana told him with a smile. "We'll be even happier. We are happy already, and there are marks of it being even better in Tugu."

Galadriel was at sea again, and Hana explained: "She's fallen in love."

The Nolde smiled: "That's a good thing indeed. I'm happy for your daughter."

"It's fitting, too," Birik remarked. "It was her insistence that drove us out of Magrandoro, and so, ultimately, here."

"Her insistence?"

"We lived in that realm for over two thousand years," Hana took the word, "but we were never fully accepted as one of them. They did not turn us away like Nore, no, but even after a millennium, we were still treated like strangers, and felt like strangers."

"We waited long to have children," Birik added, "for we thought to wait until we were at home in the realm. It was only after we realized we likely never would be that we decided to have them anyway."

"And they were treated like strangers too, in spite of being born in Magrandoro. It was Tugu who, after a few centuries of this, convinced us that we all of us deserved more. And she was right. We were more accepted after a century in Greenwood than we ever were in Magrandoro."

"Not that it didn't have its downsides," Hana said. "Greenwood is a much poorer realm. But that feeling of being always looked on as not belonging...in time, you find that no amount of comfort really makes up for it."

Galadriel thought of her life in Doriath, those millennia ago. She, at least, had had the comfort of being able to go see her kin ever year. She could not imagine undergoing that without pause, and if Celeborn had been even more of a stranger than she was. Birik and Hana, she thought, were stronger than any Noldorin warrior she had ever known.


	80. Mixing

**Chapter 80: Mixing**

 _Year 1185 of the Third Age, Lindórinand_

As the evil in what used to be Greenwood but was beginning to be called Mirkwood spread, more elves who had initially remained behind started to leave its southern areas. Some went North, to follow Thranduil after all, but some headed to Lindórinand as well.

The local Sindar looked at them with distrust and dislike. Most Silvan, on the other hand, welcomed them in commiseration – not only for the loss of their home to darkness, but also for being ruled by Thranduil for so long.

Galadriel would swear she had no part in it, but however it came to pass, it the fashion to blame Thranduil for the great losses suffered in the warcontinued undiminished in Lindórinand. Not that it was inaccurate, but indirectly, it had led to less openness to the Greenwood elves in general. Those who left the realm now, however, were mostly treated as unfortunate victims of his reign, though questions along the lines of "why did you not leave sooner?" were thrown in their way often enough, too.

It made Galadriel uneasy. She disapproved of Thranduil in very many ways, but never applied it to the whole of his people, and the tendency seemed to her to reveal something a little disquieting about Lindórinand. She had been hopeful, observing the mixing of its population in the last millennium, but it seemed there was still a long way to go to what she would consider truly opne-minded.

Refugees from Greenwood weren't the only change happening to the population, either. The Noldor from their city were beginning to talk about sailing again.

Feliel came to Galadriel with this information, unsure what to do. Galadriel sighed. "I will not try to convince them to stay," she said. "Not this time. I did it once, and ultimately, it was in vain. If they truly wish to leave Middle-Earth, let them go. But if they merely fear for themselves...I know it is not what most of you dream of, but you can come live inside the forest, inside the protection of the rivers."

"Is it really so much safer here?" Feliel wondered.

"Can you not feel it? It is. There is no danger from Sauron to you within this forest, I will answer for that." She hesitated. "I cannot promise there will not ever be - if Sauron finds the Ring again, my protection is unlikely to withstand him. But as it stands now, this forest is safe."

"I will tell them, then," she agreed. "It is true that forests are not where we naturally feel at home, but for this one," she glanced at the mellyrn, "I believe we might make an exception."

And some did. Slowly, individual Noldorin families started to trickle into the forest itself and settle in those parts of it that were still little inhabited. Sadly, that also meant the area around Galadriel's fountain was one of their targets.

"I will not forbid it," Galadriel replied when Feliel asked her about it. "I do not own the land, and besides, my people's safety is more important to me. But...I would be grateful if they could leave at least the fountain itself and the area immediately around it free. I would appreciate some privacy when I confront my visions."

Fortunately, there were not quite so many of the Noldor just yet, and so the entire hill with her fountain was left alone, with people only settling around it. Galadriel was relieved. Yes, she would not forbid them, but she sometimes needed the solitude this place could provide her. It was good she would be able to keep it a while longer. In time, no doubt, enough Noldor would come that she would lose it, but she would worry about it when it came. Now, she had enough other things to trouble her.

So many changes to the population in Lindórinand, and the expectation of more, required a special council to be called. Apart from the regular councillors, Feliel came, and so did Birik and Banja, to speak of those coming from Greenwood.

"I'm a little surprised," Galadriel said, "that Tugu didn't wish to come instead."

"She did," Birik replied with a smile. "I convinced her it was better, if we wanted to keep peace, if she stayed away."

That was certainly true. Tugu seemed unfamiliar with the idea of keeping silent to preserve peace, something she had in common with Ealc, but having more decided opinions on anything and everything, it created even more potential for friction. So her absence proved very valuable when Ornor asked: "Can we trust that those Silvan coming from Mirkwood are not touched by the darkness?"

Birik frowned, and his daughter put a hand on his forearm to calm him. As the eyes of everyone in the council turned to them to answer the question, she gave her father a quick look and then asked hesitatingly: "Has there been any indication that the darkness could...infect in this way, my lord? Now or before?"

"No," Ornor conceded reluctantly, "but we do know that proximity to Light had the effect in the positive. Surely it should follow…"

"Do we know that, though?" Galadriel asked. "I'm gratified that you have such a high opinion of us who came from the West-" his frown clearly indicated that that was not what he had meant to imply, he had just meant to insult the Silvan, "-but even I have to admit there was much great evil done by us. It doesn't seem to me that proximity to the light, next to which he was born, helped Feanor any to be a better person. So I don't see how living close to the darkness of Amon Lanc could make anyone a worse one. Weaker, perhaps, but that'd only mean they needed our protection even more."

"What about outright spies of the Enemy, then?" Ornor was unwilling to give up.

"Do you truly believe that elves could be recruited as spies?" Celeborn asked him.

"Not all elves, perhaps, but…"

"I've heard enough," Ealc stated. "It seems to me, Amroth, that some of your councillors didn't notice the change that happened in this realm two millennia ago." She turned back to the Sindarin councillor. "Do you believe I'll just sit here and let you insult us?"

"I wasn't insulting you, my lady," Ornor replied, the honorific stiff and formal on his lips. Galadriel knew that Eacl merited it at all only because she was married to Avorneth, a fact that, in itself, no doubt caused Ornor some mental anguish.

"Do you think me stupid?" Ealc returned sharply. "Never mind the question, most likely you do. But I can hear what you aren't saying just as well as anyone else at this table."

"I never said anything-"

"Stop it, Ornor," Amroth said tiredly. "Ealc is right, we all knew what you meant, and I don't want to hear any such talk in my council."

"Of course, my king," he muttered, bowing his head.

"What s your opinion on this?" Amroth asked Birik and Banja.

Birik turned to his daughter, apparently trusting her more to speak without inciting another argument. "None of the Silvan I knew in Greenwood," she said quietly, "would ever willingly serve Gorthaur, your majesty, or help him in any way."

"And unwillingly?" Ornor asked sharply.

Banja hesitated. "Forgive me if I'm wrong, my lord," she said then, only glancing in his direction, "but elves who are twisted to become the Enemy's servants become orcs, don't they?"

Ornor had no answer for that, and the discussion moved to more practical concerns of where to settle the newcomers and how to arrange for the new Noldorin presence and make it agree with their self-governance.

"If you'll forgive me, my king," Ornor spoke again on that topic, "I believe that if the Noldor wish to live in this forest, they should give up the partial independence they had."

"Colour me surprised," Ealc muttered, to Feliel's suppressed snigger, and then said aloud: "Oh? Given that Silvan settlements are still self-governing, even though they are no doubt part of this forest, what exactly is your reasoning for this?"

He gave her a surprised look which clearly indicated he had not expected her to speak in favour of the Noldor. "You're traditional inhabitants of this forest…" He began haltingly.

"And you're not. Does that mean your self-governance, in the Sindarin city, should be taken away? Why, I welcome the proposal, councillor! Finally your barbaric laws about the Select would be refuted!"

He was taking a breath for a sharp reply when Feliel interjected: "Are you worried about the Sindar being outnumbered here?" She asked.

Ornor did not respond, which was an answer in itself. Galadriel had to admit, though reluctantly, that it was a legitimate concern. Noldor living inside the forest, such quantities of them, would require proper representation in the council, likely at the cost of the Sindar who sat there. And it was perhaps just a little understandable that Oror did not wish to lose the last vestiges of Sindarin control over a realm that was once wholly theirs – or so they believed at least.

There was a short silence, into which Banja spoke, again in that quiet, hesitant tone: "Perhaps His Majesty could guarantee that your rights remain untouched even under those circumstances?"

Amroth nodded. "I'm sure something could be arranged."

Ornor looked like he wanted to retort something to that, but he swallowed it and said only. "Very well."

"If there's anything those from Greenwood can do to make this easier for you, please let us know and we will do our best to communicate it to them," Banja added, a little more confidently now.

That seemed to be the final nail in Ornor's ability to argue, and he stayed silent for the rest of the discussion, thankfully.

"I admire your patience," Feliel said to Banja after the meeting was over.

The half-elven lady gave a soft smile. "I find it's sometimes best to fight hatred with kindness, my lady," she replied.

"Most efficient at times, perhaps," Ealc commented from the other side, "but is it right? To pretend to roll over for such stupid oafs as he is?"

"Not always, possibly," Banja conceded. "But I truly believe that showing kindness and understanding can soften the edge of hatred."

"Or it can make them despise you in addition," Ealc replied, shaking her head, unconvinced as she left.

"My sister would agree with Lady Ealc," Banja noted, mostly to Galadriel. "We're forever arguing about this."

"I'm not sure I entirely agree with you either," Feliel said, "but then neither do I agree with Ealc. I've been a ruler for too long not to know that you can't always approach everything directly."

"I sometimes wonder," Galadriel noted, and at Feliel's questioning looks, elaborated. "I had one member of council much like Ornor when I ruled Hollin," she explained for Banja's sake. "One includes them for political reasons and tries to placate them, but...often, they can become truly detrimental for the realm. I sometimes wonder if, had it not been for Tavoron and his influence, Hollin could not have ended differently…if it would not have been better for everyone had I told him what I thought of him, and banished him from council."

"It would've certainly made the council much easier to bear," Feliel replied with a smile.

"You were a councillor in that realm, my lady?" Banja asked with interest.

"I was," Feliel confirmed. "There are not many things that give me more regret than what I did there."

Banja asked her something too softly for Galadriel to hear, and with a nod to Birik, the Nolde left the room. It would do Feliel good to discuss this with someone, she thought, and for that, she had to be absent.

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Galadriel had not seen any of the envoys of the West except Olórin since they first arrived, and even for Olórin, it had been a long time since he was last in Lindórinand. But one day, unexpectedly, she felt the white one crossing the border of the realm.

She set out to welcome him as soon as she could. "My lord," she said, "to what do I owe the pleasure?" Contrary to Olórin, he never protested this address, she noticed.

"I've returned from my journeys in the East," he said, "and I need information from you."

"From the East?" She asked, surprised. "I thought you said you would stay in Gondor, that the excursion East was to be only a short one..."

"The region proved more difficult that I had been given to understand here. But now I sense the shadow is rising close to these lands, and so I returned to take charge of driving it back. As I said, I will need all the information you have."

It would have been easier, Galadriel mused, to take orders from Olórin whom she actually remembered as a Maia. "Of course, my lord. What exactly do you need?"

"You live close to the Dark Fortress. Surely you have observed something. I need to know all about it. Also, when I was last here, you mentioned a ring..."

Galadriel had to prevent herself from sneering. _You mentioned a ring_ , indeed. Of course, he had been too impatient to leave before he managed to learn much more of it…

"There is, indeed, a ruling ring," she said, "but it has been lost."

"Then it needs to be found, naturally."

Galadriel gritted her teeth. "We have made these attempts, my lord, directly after the loss. To no avail."

He smiled a condescending smile. "I am sure you did your best, but as I have discovered, I have a particular affinity for craft. I suspect I must have been an affiliate of Aulë before I sailed here." Galadriel thought of Sauron in Hollin, and a chill went down her back. "I therefore believe I may be more successful at this than you have been," he continued, not noticing. "Who among you had the task of this?"

"There was not one particular person," Galadriel replied. "Ealc will likely remember best who were the people tasked with the search directly. As for coordinating it and devising the ways to look, even, you would need to speak with Avorneth. She is our expert on the rings."

"Then I will need all of her research."

"I will get her for you, my lord," Galadriel replied, and with a regal nod, he sent her away.

The Nolde had a good reason to wish to fetch Avorneth personally, though. She did not like the thought of giving away the entire ring research to the white one. She detested his lordly manner, and could not help but compare it in her mind to Olórin's constantly.

 _Is this how King Fili saw me?_ She also wondered. _If so, I am no longer surprised he treated me the way he did._

She would not hinder the white one in any way, but she would also not simply roll over for him. As Ealc had said, sometimes conceding in everything only made the situation worse.

To that end, when she found Avorneth, she took her aside before walking with her back to the white one.

"Give him what he asks for," she said, "but there is no need to give him more."

Avorneth gave her an arch look. "Should we not be all cooperating on this?"

"Yes," Galadriel conceded, "but I am almost certain he means to tread over already discovered ground. He means to look for the ring again."

"We cannot quite blame him for that, I suppose. He does not know us, and does not know how much he should trust us."

"He should try to find out, instead of simply assuming," Galadriel insisted. Part of her knew she was irritated beyond what was reasonable, but she could not quite help herself. It was like an itch under her skin, and it made it impossible to trust him as much as she probabyl should, given who sent him.

"Perhaps," Avorneth conceded. "But should not the Maiar be allowed some leeway in this?"

"If he still remembered all Lord Aulë taught him, I would give him all the reverence in the world," Galadriel replied. "But I know, from Olórin, how little they actually remember. We know more than he does at this point."

"Yes, and that is why we should share all we do know," Avorneth pointed out.

"Are you willing to simply hand over your rings research to him, then?" Galadriel asked.

Avorneth hesitated.

"Now you see where my problem lies?" Galadriel said, just the slightest bit triumphant. "If it seems to you that he is truly heading toward important discoveries, then of course give him all you have, beloved. But I do not wish to help him lord it over us by just handing out all the information we have without getting anything in return but condescension, not when he has no just claim to his superior position."

"But how can he head towards important discoveries when he does not have the information?" Avorneth asked, then sighed. "You are right that I am not willing to give up my research to him, and that it would be nonsensical for us both to work on the same things and retread each other's steps. But perhaps we can divide it between ourselves?"

"If you think it best," Galadriel said reluctantly.

Avorneth gave her a searching look. "Aunt," she said then, "this is not another Hollin. The white one truly is from the West, and you can trust him."

Galadriel sighed, because just like that, when Avorneth said it, she realized that that was, in truth, the root of her fears. "I know," she said. "It is simply hard to let go of some of the burdens of the past."

It bothered her the rest of the day. Was she truly becoming foolish, blinded by the past and unable to deal with the present?

She looked into her mirror, and it seemed to support that notion, showing nothing but the best future for their cooperation with the white one. Troubled, she confessed the matter to Celeborn.

"It's natural, my love," he said. "We've all been hurt deeply by Gorthaur in Hollin, but you, most of all."

"I should be able to rise above it," she muttered. "I have been on this side of the Sea for too long..."

Celeborn only embraced her, for what was there to be said when she could not leave?

"Should I apologize to the white one?" She asked after a moment. "I'm certain I treated him discourteously."

"He treats you discourteously as well," Celeborn replied. "It is good to keep in mind that he is not the enemy, but I would not quite go as far as apologizing."

-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-

Her talk with Banja more than just did Feliel good, as it turned out when Galadriel came to see Feliel some weeks later and found her fairly beaming.

"What is the source of your happiness, if I may pry?" Galadriel asked.

"It seems," Feliel replied. "That I have finally found my purpose."

"Your purpose?"

"Banja loves me," Feliel replied simply. "And I love her."

Galadriel smiled brightly. "It was truly fortunate fate that brought Birik and Hana here," she said. "First Tugu, and now her sister too have found love. It must be a relief for their parents, too, that both of them felt the Flame for elves. I am very happy for them, and for you."

"Thank you. I have to find out...surely they have some way to court, some I know nothing of?"

"That will be hard, since they lived in so many places and come from so many cultures. Ask Hrassa, he will know how he courted his wife."

"Somehow," Feliel remarked, "I do not believe that what worked well for Tugu would work well for Banja as well."

As it turned out, though, Feliel had been a little too hasty and there were more serious matters to consider in that courtship than the best way to please one another. Banja sought Galadriel out only a few days later, clearly troubled.

"My lady," she said, "may I speak with you?"

"Of course. What do you need?"

"I...I was wondering if...when will Lady Arwen next come to our forest, do you know?"

Galadriel gave her a surprised look. "In the next decade or so, I expect. Why?"

"I...I would very much like to speak with her."

"You will certainly have an opportunity, but...what is it? You sound as if something troubles you."

"It does," Banja admitted after a moment. "But I do not believe you could help."

"And my granddaughter could?"

"I...believe so. I hope so."

"Then I can certainly urge her to come sooner."

Baja shook her head, looking almost panicked. "No, please, do not...trouble yourself on my behalf. It is a small thing, a silly thing..."

"You do not look like it is only a small thing, Banja," Galadriel pointed out. "Clearly it troubles you greatly."

"Yes," Banja admitted reluctantly, "but it is merely of...personal nature. There is no need to bother Lady Arwen."

"Things of personal nature are sometimes the most crucial ones," Galadriel countered. "Why do you not tell me what is it that troubles you, and I will try to counsel you whether it merits calling my granddaughter sooner?"

Banja seemed to hesitate.

"You do not have to," Galadriel assured her. "I do not wish to pry, only to help."

"I simply do not wish to burden you with my private worries," Banja said after a moment.

"I am asking you to," Galadriel pointed out.

Banja hesitated some more, but then she gave a small nod and took a deep breath. "It is Feliel," she said, "or rather the choice I would have to make to marry her."

"The choice?"

"The choice of my fate," she elaborated.

"Oh!" Galadriel's eyes widened in surprise. "Have you...considered taking the fate of the Second-born? I did not think so."

"Not truly, no, but...still. It is a very definite choice, is it not? Something very big, and very final."

"So is marriage," the Nolde pointed out.

"Yes, but...there, when one makes the bad choice, one can always live separately at least. But once I decide which race I wish to be counted with, there is no going back in any way."

A sudden fear struck Galadriel. "Do you have a particular reason to believe my granddaughter might be familiar with this dilemma?"

"No, no, nothing like that," Banja assured her. "It is only that she is half-elven, and not...she is not like my sister, who I believe never had a moment's hesitation about choosing her fate when she met Hrassa. Lady Arwen could understand my hesitation more, I believe."

"Is it only your fate you doubt, or Feliel as well?" Galadriel asked. The idea that her old advisor would have to give up the love that gave her so much joy was painful.

"Only the Fate- or at least-" Banja sighed. "I love her, I do, but...I wish I could be as certain as she is."

"Do you not feel the Flame, then?"

"Therein lies the problem," Banja admitted, and Galadriel poured her some wine, judging this was something the younger nis needed to get off her chest. "The Flame is not...a natural consideration for me. My mother's culture had nothing of the sort, and while my father's did, it was, as I believe he told you, only tied to his people. I always knew he felt the Flame for mother, but it was never a very...tangible concept in my life until now. In Greenwood we lived among the Silvan, who do not honour it, and before in Magrandoro, where it is different as well."

"Different how?"

"You do not open your mind just to anyone," Banja explained. "It is only after a period of structured courtship. It...changes the whole process. I think the Flame was always, to my mind, this big romantic thing that happened to my parents only, as part of their dramatic fairytale of conquering death to be together. I never expected it to concern me."

"And do you feel it now?"

"I feel...something."

Galadriel gave her an intent look. "Do you feel that Feliel forms the other half of your soul? That you could not live in separation from her? That your hearts beat as one?"

"I do," she confirmed. "But I have heard Men claim the same of ones they love, only to grow tired of them in a few years. How do I know it is truly the Flame?"

"You could...wait a few years," Galadriel suggested reluctantly.

"That would hurt Feliel," Banja opposed, "and would not truly answer my doubts conclusively." She sighed. "I will wait until Lady Arwen comes. I hope she, at least, will have some advice – or perhaps her brothers will?"

To Galadriel's best knowledge, none of her grandchildren had much experience with either the Flame or with deciding their fate, but if they could offer Banja some comfort, she would ask them to come. If only because she dearly wished Feliel to finally find her happiness.


	81. Danger

**Chapter 81: Danger**

 _Year 1302 of the Third Age, Lórinand_

 _There is a new danger for us to fear_ , Elrond announced one pleasant spring afternoon as Galadriel was enjoying peace and watching the mellyrn in bloom with Celeborn by her side. She should have know it would not last.

 _Yes?_ She asked tiredly.

 _A_ _new kingdom is rising in the North, north even of where Arnor used to be. It is_ _ruled_ _by a dark sorcerer – they call him witch king._

 _Another shadow?_ She laughed without mirth. _Well, at least we know they can_ _no_ _t both be Sauron._

 _They could both be Ringwraiths, though._

 _Certainly, but I am sure that you understand why that worries me less – except, of course, that his most trusted servants would hardly reappear without their master making some sort of re-emergence as well. What do you plan to do?_

 _I have offered the realms of Men our assistance, but not very surprisingly, they insist they can manage on their own. But at least it seems I will succeed in making them agree on a firmer alliance._

She smiled. _You have become quite the mastermind behind politics of Men, have you not, beloved?_

 _Well, what else can I do?_

 _Oh, I am not criticizing. Far from it. How could I, when I spent ages attempting to do the same for the elven realms. I wish you more success than I had._

 _I have little faith in that_ , he returned. _Arnor fell apart. That is surely not a good sign._

 _No, but it might turn to the better yet_. She paused. _I was never quite sure about this, regarding the Doom – does it only concern us who were there when Lord Námo pronounced his judgement, or our children and grandchildren as well? It would appear the second is true, looking at our history, and yet where is the justice in that?_

 _It might be difficult, I think, to differentiate between the effects of the Doom and of the Marring of Arda._

 _You are very right in this. And perhaps I am doing the Valar an injustice: after all, my experience with the Doom tells me that had the elves born after the departure from Aman still been bound by it, we would not have won in the Last Alliance._

 _You are under the Doom still,_ he said hesitantly. _Do you think…?_

 _Do not think it has not occurred to me before. Do I doom any endeavour to failure by my participation?_ _I_ _t is the reason –_ _or one of the reasons –_ _why I do not wish to be queen again. So far, it appears that only giving counsel is not enough to doom a realm, as long as I am content with it being counsel and_ _d_ _o not attempt to make my voice the decisive one, as I did before the Battle of_ _Unnumbered Tears. But it is a conundrum. Us who came from the West have the most power to defeat Sauron, and yet the Doom also makes us likely to fail. That, I believe, is the main reason why we needed the Wizards. They are from the West, without being Doomed._

 _Hm. In that case, I would certainly appreciate one of them coming to help with Angmar,_ he returned to the original topic.

 _You can contact Olórin just as easily as I can._

 _I can, but I do not believe he would come. Waging wars is not quite his speciality, is it?_

 _What else were they sent for, but waging wars?_

 _To help us with their counsel, I imagine._

Galadriel smiled to herself _. That, too, but not only that, beloved. Do not be confused by their seeming age. Olórin at least is more than capable to fight, and I gather that so are the others. I believe that once the battle comes, they will fight, and bravely so._ She paused and frowned. _Well, at least those who will be close enough to heed the call. Olórin tells me the Blue ones go further and further East in their quest, and not even Curunír meets with them any longer._

 _What do they do there, then?_

 _Who knows? We can only assume it is something of importance. They will not come to help with this realm called Angmar, that much is certain._

 _No one will_ , Elrond pointed out. _Celebrían and_ _Arwen_ _are talking about visiting you again, and as much as I would miss them, I am thinking of telling them to_ _go with Elladan and Elrohir and_ _stay longer this time, at least until we can examine the situation in Angmar properly._

 _Are you certain of this?_ She asked, surprised _. You may be closer to Angmar, but we are closer to Amon Lanc._

 _The evil of Angmar, however, seems to be expanding more quickly,_ he replied _. From what I know, it spread in the last two years as the one close to you did in twenty. And I might get involved in a direct war with it soon, which would put Rivendell in more danger._

 _Do you believe the shadow is strong enough to overpower the protection the Ring provides?_ Galadriel asked, worried. That would imply Sauron for sure.

 _I do not know – and if I am to test it, I would rather not do so in the presence of my wife and children._

 _Very well then, send them to me – but you know you may wait long until the witch-king is defeated. The twins, at the very least, will not sit idly and wait here._

 _I do not expect them to – they will accompany their mother and sister and stay for a while, and then they will come back and serve as scouts_. She could feel his smile. _I am well aware they are no longer elflings, you know._

 _It is well that you are. It is more than most parents manage – including Celeborn at times, I have to say._

 _Well, Celebrían does need more protection than our sons._

Galadriel flinched at this, and shied away from Elrond's questioning mind. She felt his hurt, and sighed. _Forgive me, beloved, but I_ _already told you I_ _cannot share this particular secret with you._

 _I do not wish to pressure you,_ he replied, _and yet...it seems to me it weights very heavily on you._ _I would like to help, if I could._

She shook her head _. There was only one who knew, and she is in the West now._

 _It concerns Celebrían, does it not?_

 _Yes, but not in any way that would influence her life. It is purely my private matter, I promise you._

 _Very well then. Expect your daughter and grandchildren soon, with a proper escort_. Elrond turned his mind from her then, and she could feel he was still worried. But there was no helping it: she could sooner tell Celeborn about this than her daughter's husband.

-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-

At Feliel's request, Galadriel asked her and Banja to spend an evening with her at the same time she asked Avorneth and Ealc.

"I could easily simply go and visit them," Feliel had said, "but Banja is not exactly forward, and she would feel better, I believe, if we all met in your house."

"Then my house is at your disposal."

And so it was. Galadriel soon realized where the problem lay: Banja was excessively shy particularly in front of Avorneth.

Avorneth noticed, too, and after soldiering through an hour or so of uncomfortable silence and almost-whispered replies to her question, she said: "Have I ever done something to make you believe I detested your company, that you won't speak to me directly?"

That alarmed Banja, and she quickly looked at the Noldorin lady. "No, of course not, my lady," she said. "I'd never wish to offend you in any way."

"What is it, then?"

Banja hesitated. "Your grandfather was the High King, I know. It seems improper, my lady, to simply sit here with you around the same table and speak as if we were equals."

Ealc scoffed. "Don't tell me you believe all that nonsense about kings."

At her, Banja could look fully as she replied: "I know you see it differently, but I was raised in a world where this wasn't acceptable, and it isn't so easy for me to change."

Avorneth frowned, and looked at Galadriel. "But-" she began. She wished to say, Galadriel could sense, that it was strange Banja did not have the same problem with her.

 _Do not remind her_ , she asked Avorneth sharply. It was possible that Banja did not quite realize who Galadriel's family was, or for some other reason forgot that she should display the same kind of respect in front of her. If that was the case, Galadriel much preferred her not remembering. She could hardly help if Banja was afraid to speak to her.

Avorneth stopped herself just in time. "But your sister doesn't seem to have the same trouble," she said instead.

"No. Tugu was never suited for Magrandoro, that's one of the reasons we left."

She sounded wistful, and Celeborn asked her: "Do you miss it?"

"I do," she admitted. "My sister and parents were right, we were always treated as outsiders there, but still, it was my home and I loved it. Lindórinand is a lovely, friendly place, but it's very different."

"What is it you miss the most?" Galadriel asked curiously.

"The purpose," Banja replied. "Everyone seemed to have one there, much more so than here. Here I feel unmoored, and every decision I make is so difficult because of that."

"Which brings us to why we're here," Feliel announced cheerfully.

Banja gave her a pained look.

"I'm sorry, my love," Feliel was immediately contrite. "I didn't mean to be so abrupt. But we're looking for advice." She turned to Avorneth and Ealc. "Your wedding was a mix of two traditions. We hoped you could help us."

Avorneth regretfully shook her head. "We're not the right couple to turn to. Apart from my dress and jewellery, we followed everything Silvan." She paused. "But Aunt and Uncle had a mixed wedding, didn't you?"

"We did," Galadriel confirmed, "but most of it was still Noldorin, or our own."

Feliel sighed. "Do you know anyone who could advise us, then?"

"Tugu?" Galadriel asked archly.

Banja smiled, softly. "My sister, too, simply accepted Silvan wedding customs without any qualms. I'd like to keep something of what I knew when I was growing up, though."

"And what were the weddings like, in Magrandoro?" Galadriel asked, thinking of her talk with Avorneth centuries ago about the dearth of custom description in legends.

"In short, elaborate," Banja replied.

When Galadriel actually saw the resulting ceremony, a few years later, she had to concede it was very true.

She had recommended the best Doriath seamstresses she knew to Banja, and Feliel of course took care of arranging the best jewel smith. Galadriel did not know how long it took Banja to explain what she needed. It must have been long, for the result was very different from anything they knew. Different, but exquisite.

Banja was wrapped in red silk, which reminded Galadriel of her own wedding, but the cut was entirely foreign, and so was the design of the very many jewels that glittered on her hands and ears.

Galadriel had also assumed, from her experience of Avorneth's wedding, that there would not be much mention of the Valar. She could not have been more wrong.

The names were different, true. Except for Oromë, who was simply shortened to Orme, she would not have recognized any of them. But call to their particular areas of interest were included in the prayers, and it was not difficult to see which of the Lords and Ladies they were addressed to.

Banja was first given away to Feliel by both of her parents. Feliel then led her to a lit fire and they held hands over it as they began to circle it, and as they did, they prayed. Every circling of the fire was a prayer to one of the Valar, for their special blessing. Seven circles in one direction for the Lords, asking for wisdom and compassion and material security, for strength and courage, for peace and for their fates to be joined even after death. And then the direction changed and prayers to the Valier came, for light in their lives, for growing together, to support each other in sorrow, for happiness and joy, that their fates be united and that they always take care of each other.

Then they both leaned forward, and above the flames, they kissed, the name of the One on their lips, shared in the same breath.

Galadriel felt warm happiness spread through her, and for a moment, she forgot about the shadows pressing on them from two sides.

-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-

Celebrían and the children had arrived just in time for the wedding, and as soon as the celebration was over, Galadriel found some time to spend alone with her granddaughter. "Father explained about Angmar," the younger lady said as they sat by the fountain. "I must say I am surprised to hear it is so difficult to tell what kind of creature the witch-king is. Surely you know the Ringwraiths and Sauron from the previous war?"

"Part of the problem is that neither me nor your father can afford to go explore personally, and neither can he send his Chief Commander. Only I am certain to recognize Sauron, and only the three of us would be able to tell the Ringwraiths apart. It is true that there are more who could recognize a Ringwraith at all, but there is also the matter of their safety. Sending anyone to Angmar to find out would be a risk, and unless it is Sauron – which, as I said, only I can recognize with certainty – it does not much matter."

"Do you believe it is Sauron? Father does not."

"Neither do I – from what your father tells me, the sorcerer is attempting to establish a regular kingdom, and I do not think Sauron would do that, not outside Mordor. It seems strange even for a Ringwraith, to tell the truth – if it was not for the strength of the shadow, I would say it was some lesser servant of Sauron. But I could be wrong, of course."

"When you and Father agree on something, I would be very surprised if you were," Arwen replied with a smile.

"Thank you for your confidence," Galadriel said with a retuning one of her own, then added: "What made you so interested in possible wars to come all of a sudden?"

"I do not care about the war, not really, I am more curious about...well, how do you recognize a Ringwraith? Or a Maia? Is there a way to tell?"

Galadriel considered the matter. "Well, there is a certain particular feeling to them. Ringwraiths are easy enough. Maiar are more difficult, for they come in so many different kinds and forms. And in any case I cannot truly explain it without you having a first hand experience."

"I did speak to Mithrandir a few of times..."

Galadriel shook her head. "That will not help, the nature of the Wizards is buried too deep under their disguise for you to spot it unless you know what you are looking for. There are precious little Maiar left for you to find out...The Eldest has a wife, I believe, though I have never met her. But given that entering his forest would mean getting relatively close to Angmar, now is not a good time to explore this possibility."

Arwen took a moment to digest this. "How can you ever know if the evil in Mirkwood is Sauron, then, if no one but you can recognize him and you never leave Lindórinand?" She asked then.

Galadriel sighed. Therein, indeed, lay the problem. "Hopefully, Mithrandir sharing his memories with me will be enough to tell. And if we wait long enough, I will also be able to reach his mind with mine and recognize it."

"Why do you have to wait for that?" Arwen asked criously.

"Whatever dwells there is too weak still, and it does not have a mind to speak of yet. I can only feel that it is malicious, nothing more."

At this point, Elladan and Elrohir scrambled up the hill to them. "Amroth says that the white river formed a new and very beautiful cove since we last were here," Elrohir said to his sister. "We are going there now. Do you want to come with us?"

Arwen raised her eyebrows at them. "Why?"

"To see the cove, obviously."

Arwen gave him a look. "I meant why are you asking me – though now I feel obliged to tell you that while I am sure it is very pretty, I came to see my grandparents. I can admire coves in Rivendell."

"Well, not this one," Elrohir pointed out.

"I believe I can do without."

"Your loss," Elladan said decisively, and they left again. "I told you there was no point in asking her," he muttered to his brother.

Once they were out of earshot, Galadriel turned to Arwen and said: "I believe your brothers were trying to...have you meet someone, without telling you. They are probably bound by secrecy."

Arwen blinked. "Oh. I had no idea. Was I too unkind, then? Mother always says I am unkind to them, but I cannot help sometimes feeling they spend time by such silly things, for all they are older than me."

Galadriel smiled. "Your mother is right that you should not judge them so harshly," she said. "We each have different interests. There is nothing wrong in their pursuits, and I can probably understand them better than you can."

"If they spent more of their time studying..."

"Then what?" Galadriel shook her head. "They do not aspire to be loremasters. They love being out in the mountains and the forests, admiring their beauty. They are like their mother in this, and their grandfather."

"Mother never ran across the country like they do, though, did she?" Arwen asked.

"You are right, she did not. Celebrían could – still can – spend days admiring a single tree, something I truly never could understand. They are more restless than she is, but what drives them is fundamentally the same."

"If they were less restless, father would be less worried," Arwen muttered.

"Ah, so this is what troubles you, is it not? Worrying is part of being a parent, beloved. Elrond would not attempt to change his sons' natures, or make them less than they could be. Your mother, I am sure, worries when you read too much about what she calls 'bloody Noldorin history' of the first age, yet she does not try to stop you either, does she?"

"Not usually," Arwen admitted, "though I know she was upset with you for giving me the words to the Fall of the Noldor."

"I see she inherited her father's protective tendencies as well," Galadriel said with a hint of sharpness in her voice. "It is well to know that at least one of your parents is aware that their children are now over a thousand years old, and quite capable of deciding on their own."

-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-

The rise of Angmar was, naturally, something to discuss with Olórin as well. Galadriel had briefly notified him through the rings, but she saved a detailed discussion for when he came in person.

"Yes," he confirmed. "I went to that realm as soon as Elrond warned me, and there is indeed a darkness to be feared."

"Is it Sauron?" She went straight to the heart of the matter.

"I...do not believe so," he replied. "But I cannot know for certain. You knew I could not know for certain."

"I hoped, perhaps, that a memory would resurface," she answered.

"You have to stop hoping in that, my friend," he replied. "They will not come back to me, not until I return West."

At the mention of that, Galadriel looked away. She had kept that particular shame of hers hidden from him so far, but now he gave her a surprised look at sensing the pain in her mind. "What is wrong?"

She shook her head. "The West just seems so far away and out of reach," she said, entirely truthfully.

"And yet you have better memories of it than I do."

"Indeed. It seems it should be hard not to feel as if I am back there, as I walk here among the mellyrn with you, the same I did in my youth in the West. But I am so changed, and you are not truly the same you...the memories do not touch me except to remind me how different it all is."

He smiled. "The world is changing every day, it is no wonder that five millenia ago seem different than now."

"It is not so much about the world being changed, in truth, though that plays a part as well I suppose – as it changes, so do we. And it seems to be ever quicker these days, or perhaps it only seems so to me because I am limited to this small realm and hardly go far away."

"No, you might well be right," he agreed. "I do not remember the world as it was, of course, but...this used to be the lands of elves, with the Second born living only in small spaces in isolation, am I correct?"

"Yes. That was true until the expansion if Númenórë, which broadened the lands of Men."

"The lives of Men are quicker," Olórin said, "and the land, the world itself, matches itself to them. When it was en elven world, the changes were slow and gradual, Now, it is fast-paced."

"It makes me wonder about the future," Galadriel said. "How long until I, locked as I am behind the walls of this forest, will entirely lose track of the world of Men? You know that as it is now, Amroth does not admit them into the realm unless it is an official envoy of one of the kings. When someone seeks help, they are provided for at the borders, and then sent away. He fears enemy spies, but we close ourselves in a way that reminds me of Doriath, and that sits badly with me."

"He is worried. You have to understand."

"I do understand, but I do not like it. The Sindar here have learned much from the Silvan, or most of them have at least. But the Silvan, in turn, accepted some things, and it seems to be that along with the language, it is this kind of...lack of openness."

"Many of them died in the last war, from what you told me. It leaves a mark."

"It does, and it makes me bitterly regret the past every time I remember it." She sighed. "It is also why this is becoming the world of Men, of course. So few of us are left, most either dead or Sailed..."

"Yes. Yours are only little islands in the rapidly expanding sea of Men. I know that when you taught me Sindarin, it was with the knowledge that it was the language that was most widely spoken, but I am finding more and more places where only Westron is to be understood."

"I know," Galadriel agreed. "We have this trouble with the kings of Gondor – there were some to which we have had to talk through an interpreter already when we wanted to clarify some more complicated point. A day will come, I know, when they will know none of our languages, and it will not be out of defiance, as in Númenórë, but out of ignorance and neglect."

"Do you despise them for it?" He asked.

"Despise?" She considered. "I do not know. Certainly they have every right to speak their own language, but it seems to me that it is a sign of falling learning that they know not how to speak even Sindarin."

He smiled a little, and she caught his thought and returned it. "Yes, I do not speak Westron myself, you are correct – but then, you know that my mother tongue was Quenya, and that I learned Telerin when in Aman still, and Sindarin after coming to Middle-Earth, and what I could of Silvan. It is not as if I knew only one language."

"No," he agreed, "but you had so much more time in which to learn."

Her smile broadened. "I sense," she said, "that you believe I should learn it."

"I do, my friend. As you said yourself, this is going to be a world of Men soon, and you need to know how to speak to them."

"Then if you have time, teach me. No method is ever going to be more efficient than learning with the help of the rings!"

"I will not stay long enough, I fear, to have you learn all of the language," he replied regretfully.

She shrugged. "No matter. Teach me what you can. I have Elrond, then, to practice on, and I can still try to use Westron through the rings."

Olórin's smile turned into more of a grin. "From speaking to Elrond in Quenya directly to Westron? That might surprise him a good deal."

"All the more reason to do it, then!" Galadriel said, returning his grin.

-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-

AN: As you've probably noticed by now, I take inspiration for the elven societies I create from around the world, but the wedding was a little more direct, so let me credit it: it was inspired by traditional Indian wedding ceremony, though it was less elaborate by far – I imagine Banja made it a bit easier for Feliel so that the poor girl didn¨t end up completely overwhelmed.


	82. Flight

**Chapter 82: Flight**

 _Year 1437 of the Third Age, Lindórinand_

"Men of the West," Tugu spat when she returned to Cerin Aran and entered Galadriel's house. "They never change, or never for the better."

"You shouldn't say that, Mother," her son corrected her softly, following in after her. "It makes you as bad as them."

„Sometimes I wonder whether you aren't, somehow, my sister's child," she muttered in response, but then said: „You are right, of course. Forgive me. But at times, I'm so tired by all of this."

He only nodded.

"Not that I want to interrupt," Galadriel said, her tone mildly amused, "but since you came into my house and all, I assume you have news."

"We do indeed," Tugu said, clearly disgusted. "Our little trip of support to King Eldacar ended up being more needed than we could have expected, though also in vain."

"The rebel won," Spenna clarified for Galadriel, who was slowly losing her patience. "The king is fleeing his realm."

That was some cause for alarm indeed. "Where are Elladan and Elrohir?" She asked immediately.

"They stayed behind to provide him with protection, while we went ahead to let you know. He left with a handful of faithful ones, and they would like to recuperate here in safety for a time before they move on."

Galadriel sighed. "If it was only up to me, then with all my heart. But you know how it is. Most of the council is disinclined to let Men in at all at this time, and a Man who has the whole nation of Gondor after him...I'll try, but there is almost no hope of success."

"Couldn't Amroth overrule the vote?" Tugu asked. "Isn't that how the Sindatin authority is supposed to work?"

"Not anymore, not since the Silvan made it clear they want to have their voice heard. Besides, I doubt he would want to."

"Should I go back and tell them to give the refuge of Lindórinand up, then?" Spenna asked.

Galadriel shook her head. "At the very least," she said, "I can provide protection at he borders. My spells will not turn them away, and our guard won't shoot them, as they would do to any who tried to pursue. We can bring them food and healing, too. We can grant them a few days, easily."

"Then I will tell them that. I will head back after I rest a little."

"Just a moment more," Galadriel stopped him. "You said they intend to go on after a period of rest. To go on – where?"

"Can't you guess?" Tugu answered instead of her son. "Rhovanion, of course."

"That means passing directly under the Necromancer's land."

"Yes," Spenna confirmed. "They might need our help and protection just a little while longer."

When he left, Galadriel gave his mother a searching glance. "He was very eager to return," she said. "Was it just for Elladan and Elrohir?"

Tugu shook her head. "I fear not," she said. "There is a young lady who is fleeing with her father, her brother having been slain in defending the king. She is, truly, very young. But my son...I worry he might be feeling the first stirrings of the Flame."

Galadriel immediately understood the gravity of that pronouncement. "It might still come to nothing," she said. "How young is very young?"

"I don't know exactly. Fifteen, perhaps?"

That was not so extremely young, not for the Second-born. There were even cases where girls married that young, she knew, though never in the circles she knew in Númenórë. But it was an age when it was possible, just possible, that Spenna would recognize the Flame already. "I'm sorry," she said simply.

"Yes," Tugu agreed with a sigh. "So am I. Our parents were always so worried, I know, that we would find someone among Men – especially when we went to look for a place to settle there." She scoffed. "They needn't have worried on that account. I'd rather have stayed alone till the end of the world than have married any of the Men of the West I met."

Galadriel gave a small, sad smile. "I understand, now, why your son was so upset with you expressing that sentiment."

"His chosen one, if she is that, is exceptional in this, I'll grant her that much. Her whole family is. They stuck by the king through everything, never once wavering. The father, apparently, had been close to the old king already, and his wife." Tugu scowled. "He told us something of what she had to face in court on the way."

"It's a pity Elrond can't afford to come here now. He could tell the king something about what he faced in Lindon for his Second-born ancestors."

Tugu sighed. "I wish I could believe it was only Men who did this," she agreed, "but I've seen enough myself. Even here, in this realm, there is sometimes a look, a whisper...it happened less often in Greenwood, but it happened, and in Magrandoro...the less said about that, the better."

"I'm sorry," Galadriel repeated, powerless to do more and hating it.

"At least you actually are," Tugu replied, "which is more than most can say."

Galadriel was not comfortable accepting thanks, implicit as it may be, for such a basic thing. "I'll go speak with Amroth, and the council."

The result was much as she had expected, and so a day later, when King Eldacar arrived with his small entourage, she welcomed him at the borders with food and healing supplies, and Asseannettë's sisters by her side.

As she helped the refugees, she observed, and she was forced to admit that Tugu was likely right. Spenna never left the refugees' side, and while he did not spend his time exclusively with the only young girl present, he spent enough of it that his inclination was clear to Galadriel.

Elladan and Elrohir mostly stayed there, too, to keep their new friends company, and one night when the Second-born slept, Galadriel asked them about their observation.

"We would not betray a friend," Elrohir replied.

"What betrayal?" Elladan asked. "He betrays himself by every look."

"Has he actually said something to you?" Galadriel asked.

"Not in so many words," Elladan admitted, "but he made hints which..."

"Elladan!" Elrohir said sharply.

"You are right, brother, best not repeat that. In any case, it seems clear enough to us."

Galadriel sighed. It was as she had feared.

That evening, as she spoke to Elrond, she mentioned it to him and felt his own, answering pain. _This is the pain that every friend of a half-elf must suffer_ , he said. _I'm sorry for my sons, that they'll have to face it in him. But_ _m_ _ore than that, I admit, I fear one of them following hi_ _s_ _example._

 _Or both_ , Galadriel said, melancholy in her own voice.

 _Or both_ , he agreed, _but what I fear more is it only being one of them._

Galadriel felt his spike of pain at this, and she felt her own, answering one. _Beloved..._

 _You know it will never heal._

 _I do. I am sorry._

 _I worry about them constantly_ , he admitted. _They spend so much time among the Second-born, seem so much at home there...I truly fear that they are like Elros. That if they fall in love with a woman, it will only be a confirmation of what they already knew_. He sighed. _At least with Arwen,_ he said. _I feel secure enough. There is nothing of Men in her, it seems to me, neither in her face nor in her nature, and I trust that if no one else will, she will stay by me._

Galadriel would have liked to promise him she would, too, but she could not follow him West, and besides, a sense of a premonition distracted her in that moment. It was sharp and biting, and would not leave her alone, so she ended the talk and headed to the Mirror.

The only thing she saw there, however, was that coronation in Gondor once again, and she puzzled over it for a time.

It was then that she remembered which child this vision was connected to, and coupled with the premonition reappearing when it did...fear settled in her stomach, deep, all-encompassing fear.

Elrond, she decided, must not know. _It might not be true after all, and I must not worry him in vain. I must not hurt him in vain. He ha_ _s_ _suffered enough._

-g-g-g-g-g-g-

Olórin judged the situation serious enough that he decided to head to Gondor, and stopped in Linorinand on his way south.

"It is good to see you in person again, my friend," Galadriel said with a smile as she greeted him.

"And you," he returned. "I have finally found the little folk you have told me about, and had to abandon them for this foolishness of Men, but at least it gives me an excuse to see you."

"The little folk? Ah, you mean the strange ones who live up the river?" Galadriel had a vague feeling that Feliel had gone to see them a few more times. She herself could not afford the absence from her realm for such a frivolous reason.

"Yes, only they no longer live up the river. They are in Eriador now."

At that, Galadriel blinked. "In Eriador? Where?"

"Hiding their small settlements in that lands that used to be part of Rhudaur, west of Rivendell. They are very hard to find."

"That is good for them – Angmar is under control now, relatively speaking, but still, they would no doubt be in danger had they lived in the open."

Olórin agreed. "In fact," he said, "I may have to try and gain their trust to warn them to move away before Angmar gains strength again. It could end badly for them. It almost inevitably would."

"It should be done, certainly," Galadriel agreed. "But...are you certain it is you who should do it? Surely Elrond could send someone? I do not mean to scold, my friend, but you do have more crucial tasks."

"Which is why I left them to to go Gondor just now," he returned, "but...I have a premonition, of sorts, that they will be important in some way."

Galadriel considered this. "Do you wish to look into the Mirror?"

He hesitated. "I am not certain...the Mirror works with your visions, my friend, amplifies them. I am not sure it could make use of my own premonitions, and in fact, I fear a little that its strength could push them away."

Galadriel had never considered the possibility, but it made sense. "Do you wish me to look, then?" She asked.

"I would be most glad," he replied.

They walked there together, Galadriel greeting the Noldorin families settled around the hill as she climbed it, introducing Olórin to those who did not know him. There were few such left. She often preferred the hill as a place to speak to him, rather than the capital, where someone was always making demands on her time.

The Mirror, though was rather unhelpful. It gave her images of one of the little people, dressed rather absurdly in a vaguely Arnorin fashion, as he sat and chatted to Olórin. Nothing more.

Galadriel showed the image to Olórin, hoping he could make some sense of it. He, however, only shrugged. "This is far in the future now, I believe," he said. "When I meet him, I will know."

Yes, Galadriel wondered, but know what?

-g-g-g-g-g-g-

Arwen visited Lindórinand not long after. She had last been there a few decades ago when Elrond, together with the kingdom of Arthedain, organized an offensive to push back against Angmar as a response to the two other kingdoms of Men being destroyed. Angmar had been pushed back successfully then, and had been kept in check by Rivendell and Arthedain ever since, and so Celebrían stayed in Rivendell, and Arwen stayed with her. They both sensed that ere long, they would be forced to find refuge in Lindórinand again, and who knew for how long, and so they wished to stay with Elrond as much as they could while they could.

However, the time had finally come when Arwen missed her grandparents too much, and so she headed south without her mother, with her brothers as her escort. Galadriel was sitting with her now, telling her stories of the First Age as the half-elven lady jotted down notes for the book she was working on.

That was when she felt Tugu very insistently trying to reach her mind.

"Forgive me, beloved," she said, pausing in the middle of her narration. "Tugu needs something, and rather urgently I fear."

"Of course. What is it?"

"I do not know," Galadriel replied, rushing out, Arwen following more sedately after her.

Tugu was hurrying towards them, and so they met her not far from the house. "Lady Galadriel," she said, breathless. "There are news."

"What news?"

"King Eldacar is returning to Gondor."

"What?" Galadriel exclaimed. "Does he wish to be killed?"

Tugu shook her head vehemently. "He has an army at his back."

"An army?" The Nolde frowned. "Did some of the rioting Gondorians go to join him?"

"Perhaps that as well," Tugu conceded. "But the grunt of it is the Nothmen of Rhovanion."

That was astonishing indeed. "How did he convince them to join him?"

Tugu shook her head again. "I don't know that, my lady."

"Any other details?"

Another shake.

"Can you tell me how you learned about it, at least?"

Tugu hesitated for a moment. "Spenna saw the image in her mind," she admitted then.

Galadriel stared. "He can see her mind well enough for this? Over this distance?"

"Yes," Tugu admitted.

"I'm sorry," Arwen interceded, "but whose mind?"

Galadriel gave Tugu a questioning look, and Tugu shrugged. "It's not like it matters now," she said. "It's beyond a shade of doubt." She turned to Arwen, then, and said: "My son is in love with one of King Eldacar's noble ladies."

Arwen's eyes widened as she realized the implications. "Oh," she only said, clearly at a loss.

There was a short silence, and before Galadriel could gather her thoughts and decide what to do next, Birik and Hana found them there.

"Spenna told us what happened," Birik explained.

"He's packing his things to go join them at this very moment," Hana added.

Tugu only nodded. "He told me he'd go," she said.

"Do you wish to accompany him?" Galadriel asked.

"Do you wish me to?" Tugu asked shrewdly.

"Yes," Galadriel admitted. "I need someone to go there and bring us back some news. But if you're unwilling, I'll ask Amroth to send a scout."

Tugu shook her head. "No, I'll go," she said, and departed shortly after, in the company of her parents.

"What does this mean for her?" Arwen asked when they were alone again.

"You know what it means, beloved."

"I know he will die," Arwen said as they headed to Amroth's house to acquaint him with the news. "But I mean..." She shook her head. "I cannot imagine this. I do not know Spenna as well as my brothers do, of course, but it seems that he loves his parents, and his aunts and grandparents, too. I cannot imagine...if he loves them as much as I love my father, how could he..."

Galadriel thought of her Mirror again, and tried to mask the pain she felt at that premonition. "You have not felt the Flame," she said. "It is...very strong. The idea of living without the one to whom it binds you is difficult."

"Why did the One made it possible for us to feel it for the Second-born, then? Is it a curse?"

"Tindómiel believed so, for a time," Galadriel said with a sad smile.

"Tindómiel? The Númenorean princess, my cousin?"

"The very one." You will meet her across the sea one day, Galadriel wanted to say, but then she thought of the vision again and bit her tongue, struggling not to let her feelings show.

"But...she married an elf. She did not need to die, to abandon her loved ones..."

"No," Galadriel replied. "Hers was the harder fate. She had to watch all of her loved ones die."

"I never considered this," Arwen admitted. "Living among elves..."

"Yes," Galadriel agreed, "it is different for you. But truly, the one who dies the true death of the Second born always has it easier. It is those who continue living who suffer."

"Why did so many Men of Númenórë despise death, then?"

"Perhaps because of the pain it caused those who they left behind?" Galadriel suggested. "I do not know. I do not understand the gift, not truly, and I do not know how bound, or not bound, Men feel to the world. You should know that better, at least in theory."

Arwen shook her head. "Anyone desiring death," she said, "has ever been a mystery to me. I love the world, and I love many in it. I suppose that wishing to sail one day I can imagine, though not yet by far, but dying..."

Galadriel smiled at that. "You are perfectly happy, then?"

Arwen hesitated. "I would not put it that way exactly, perhaps..."

Galadriel immediately grew concerned. "What is wrong?"

"It is only that I am a little lonely, sometimes," Arwen replied.

And Galadriel thought of herself feeling that way when she was young, and of the Flame, and of the Mirror, and fought despair again.

-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-

It has been some time since Galadriel visited Hadhodrond, and so she decided to go and bring them the news of the most recent development herself.

As King Fili welcomed her with a genuine smile, she could not help but marvel at the profound difference in character between him and the previous king of that name. Clearly, the dwarves did not give identical names for similarity in nature, as elves did.

"What news do you bring, my lady?" He asked her courteously. "It's usually bad when you come, but I can never stop hoping to be wrong."

"You might be this time," she replied. "At least it's more difficult to decide. King Eldacar is returning to Gondor – with an army of Northmen at his back."

King Fili stared at her for a moment. "So...he's going to invade his own kingdom?"

"It appears so, though I don' have much detailed information yet."

He shook his head. "I can never understand Men," he muttered.

"Have dwarves never rebelled against their king?"

"Not to my knowledge, though we know very little of what goes on in the Red Mountains, of course. But not in the west, no."

Galadriel felt a pang of jealousy at that. But then she remembered the obedience of the Sindar and what misfortunes it often led to, and what would have happened to the Noldor had they all blindly followed Feanáro. "That can be dangerous as well," she said.

"Yes," he agreed. "One look at Nogrod is enough to make me remember that. Still, the knowledge makes it no less strange to imagine invading my own kingdom with an army of outsiders."

"Hopefully the threat of it will be enough, and there won't have to be a slaughter of kin."

King Fili gave her an amused look. "You don't truly believe that, do you?"

"No," she admitted. "I don't."

She mused about the king's incomprehension on her way back to Lindórinand, and that evening, as she was preparing for bed with Celeborn by her side,s he asked him: "Is it a very astonishing idea to you, that Eldacar will be invading his own kingdom?"

"Not as much as it'd have been a few ages ago," he replied, "but yes, it's still somewhat shocking."

"Do you think less of him for it?"

He considered. "I do not believe I do," he said then. "The idea of a king fighting his own people is repulsive, perhaps, but they did turn away from him. They did betray him, and for nothing but their prejudice."

Galadriel hesitated for a moment. "But when you imagine leading an army against Hollin..." she said then, not even attempting to keep her voice free of pain.

He grimaced. "You're right," he admitted. "That is truly repulsive. But then...had Gorthaur gained them as allies somehow...we might have had no choice."

It was Galadriel's turn to grimace. "I won't even consider such a possibility," she said. "It didn't happen, and that's enough for me."

Still, she suddenly felt even more sympathy for Eldacar than she had before.

-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-

Tugu returned from her journey some weeks later, bringing news. Eldacar and his army were truly on the move, and he had very many Northmen with him.

"I confess myself surprised," Hana remarked. "From what I know of them, the Northmen are rarely willing to leave their land weakened in any way to my people. I wonder what convinced them."

"Eldacar arranged a truce with your people," Tugu replied. "They solemnly swore not to attack while the army will be gone."

"Just like that?" Galadriel asked doubtfully.

"Not quite," Tugu replied with sarcasm. "He gave them a piece of Rhovanion land in exchange."

"And they just accepted that?"

"Your people or the Northmen?" Galadriel asked archly.

"Both. Either."

"The Northmen were not...thrilled, but the current rule in Gondor does not suit them," Tugu replied. "They want Eldacar to come back. And as for the so-called Easterlings...Well, Elldacar gave them an even larger piece of Gondorin land as well. Or rather, promised is a better word I believe, since he does not actually control the land now. But it's always easier giving from something that's not yours."

"In any case, coming with an army of strangers could have bad consequences for him in Gondor," Galadriel pointed out, thinking of Hollin again.

"Well, at least they're not my mother's people," Tugu replied, and Galadriel grimaced when she tried not to imagine what would have happened.

"Yes," Hana agreed. "It's perhaps better that they never find out he even treated with the Chief of Chiefs so successfully. If they're anything like the Northmen...the mutual hatred can be very strong."

"They're worse," Tugu muttered, and Galadriel sighed, thinking of the young Gondorin lady Spenna was in love with. The next few decades were going to be hard.

Tugu went to rest, but Galadriel stayed to speak to her parents. "I'm sorry for what awaits you," she said.

Hana stayed silent, but Birik inclined his head. "Thank you. We have been spared this grief with our daughters, only to face it in our grandson. I have not had to face this since my best friend died, and..." he trailed off, only shaking his head. Hana wordlessly took his hand, and Galadriel left the house, giving them some privacy.


	83. Guilt

**Chapter 83: Guilt**

 _Year 1636 of the Third Age, Lindórinand_

After years of posing no danger, Angmar was gradually recovering from the defeat two centuries ago and pushing against Atherdain, and so Elrond sent his wife and daughter to Lindórinand once again even as he planned what he hoped would be the final offensive.

The arrival of the ladies was, as usual, accompanied by the twins and Lord Laurefindil. The lord only intended to stay for a day before returning to his duties in Rivendell, forcing Galadriel to make the most of his short stay.

"Elrond is worried," he said as he sat with her in her house.

"I know," she replied. Angmar had been pushed back only after it destroyed two of the successor kingdoms of Arnor, and for the last twenty years, it had been gaining strength again at a very alarming rate, a rate that suggested extraordinary amount of power pushing the growth. "Worried and guilty."

"That, always," Lord Laurefindil confirmed.

"I would say it is part of being a Noldo, but...are you, Lord Laurefindil?"

"Am I a Noldo?" He asked with an arched eyebrow.

She laughed. "I think there can be no doubt of that, in spite of your Vanyar hair. No, I meant, are you as burdened with guilt as the other members of our clan?"

"No," he replied, then amended, "or I should say, not any more. I felt guilt for leaving Aman, for my father's death and, naturally, for Lady Irissë, but the Halls of Mandos wipe all that away. Just as the memories of my death do not pain or haunt me, it released me from all the burdens I had accumulated before that. And I have been fortunate enough to not have too great burdens to carry since my return." He paused. "But do you truly think all of us carry shame for our deeds? What about Fëanáro as his sons?"

Galadriel considered the question. "Fëanáro truly was probably shameless, or at least he hid any kind of guilt very well, but his sons, at least some of them...guilt never left Nelyafinwë since Alqualondë until insanity claimed him completely, and I would venture to say that Macalaurë is plagued by it still."

"Did you know them well?" He asked curiously. "Before wandering with them through Beleriand before the War, I mean?"

She smiled slightly, looking into distance. "Macalaurë I only came to know properly later, but Nelyafinwë...it used to be the three us for a time – Nelyafinwë, Findekáno and me. Do you not remember? You were about four Valian years old when I became friends with Nelyafinwë, if my memory serves, and we often met at my uncle's house, so you must have seen us there."

He thought about it. "I do remember you being there often, and Nelyafinwë as well, but I think I never realized you were all friendly together. What brought it to an end, The Enemy?"

"Not quite. Fëanáro, I imagine you could say. The older I was, the more I saw his mistakes, but at the same time, I was compared to him more and more, and so I began to consciously work on curbing the more negative aspects of my personality. Findekáno understood and respected that, though he did not quite agree, but Nelyafinwë...not so much. We gradually drifted apart, but I considered him my friend until the attack on New Havens."

"And then?" Lord Laurefindil prompted.

"Then I pitied him, for the largest part. As I have said, he was insane to a degree, but in his lucid moments, he was burdened by guilt in a degree none of us can truly comprehend." She paused. "You never knew any of the Sons of Fëanáro?"

He shook his head. "I saw Curufinwë and Turkafinwë often enough, to my grief, but they were not the sort I wished to speak to. And Lord Turukáno, as you know, disliked all of the brothers rather strongly, so that did not give me much occasion to speak to the rest."

"Yes, I do know. I always wondered if Irissë first became friendly with them just to spite him."

Lord Laurefindil chuckled. "I can well imagine her doing something like that, no slight on her character intended."

"Is it not?" Galadriel asked archly.

"Loyalty would not allow me any such thought," he replied, laughter dancing in his eyes. Then he grew serious and added: "In times when guilt still plagued me, I often asked myself if perhaps I would have tried harder to find her after she disappeared if I had more respect for her when she still lived in Ondolindë."

The Nolde sighed. "See?" She remarked. "As I said, it is part of being a Noldo. I would tell you feeling any guilt over what happened is quite misplaced, but I was hardly her best friend, so perhaps you would not take it too seriously from me. And besides, you do not need to hear it any more. But it does bring us back to Elrond."

"It does indeed. I feel some other way than the Halls of Waiting to allay his guilt would greatly benefit him."

"Would that such a thing existed," Galadriel muttered, thinking not only of Elrond, but of herself, too, and or Artanáro. He, at least, had the benefits of the Halls at his disposal now. "But Elrond is excessive," she added aloud. "From what he said, you would think that the fact that the realms of Men fell, or are about to, was solely his fault."

"Ho does see them all as his nephews."

"I am aware, yes." She sighed. "Sometimes, I think he should have bid his brother farewell the moment Elros made his choice..." But she knew, of course, that Elrond would have never accepted it. Neither would she, after all. "In any case, that they are his nephews does not make him responsible for their failings. Valar know I would have driven myself to insanity had I regarded Oropher's in that light, or had Celeborn."

"And did you not? At all?" He asked with a penetrating look.

Galadriel considered the question. "No," she said then, slowly. "Not in this sense. I did blame myself for his faults to a degree-" a dark chuckle from Lord Laurefindil indicated that he had expected that much, "but not because he was my nephew. It was solely because of the conflict between us in New Havens, and because I did not try harder to heal the breach."

"I confess I do not know much about it," Lord Laurefindil replied. "Erestor told me some, but he...does not like to think back to those times."

"Understandable," Galadriel nodded. She did not like to think of Erestor in those times either. It brought back other kinds of guilt, for Brannor and others who had died there. "If you are in the mood to listen to a story, then..."

"From you, always, my lady."

-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-

After Lord Laurefindil left, Galadriel went in search of Celebrían to consult with her on the state of Elrond's mind. "How is he?" She asked.

"I am sure you know as well as I do, Mother."

"I doubt it," Galadriel replied, frustrated. "As much as I love Elrond, there are things I only tell my husband, and I assume it is the same with him. You are his wife, beloved, you know him best."

"But then, surely, if it is something he does not wish you to know, I cannot tell you?"

Galadriel did her best to be patient. "I am not asking you to break confidence, I would like to hear your conclusions about the state of his soul."

Celebrían shrugged languidly. "He is burdened by guilt. But you knew that already, did you not?"

"Yes, but how bad is it?"

"What do you expect me to say? Is there a scale against which this can be measured?"

Galadriel gave her a look expressing her displeasure, and Celebrían sighed. "He is in pain," she said, "and instead of being by his side, he sent me off to safety. I am left relying on vague images to communicate, while you can talk to him whenever you wish to. What do you want me to say, Mother?" She asked tiredly.

Galadriel hesitated. "Do you wish to go back?"

"No. As much as I would want to be by his side, I know that my presence in Rivendell was adding to his worries, not allaying them. But I find it difficult to be complacent about the situation. I would like some time to think, if you do not mind."

Galadriel left her, if only to prevent doing something foolish in her frustration, and went in search of Avorneth. "Thank you for standing by my daughter at all times," she began. "I do not thank you often enough, and I believe she needs you very much now, though she might be difficult at times."

"Oh no, I believe she is only difficult towards you," Avorneth answered cheerfully. "I suppose you have spoken to her, and that means I should go to her now and calm her down?"

Galadriel resignedly sat down on one of the chairs in the room. "Do I really hurt my daughter so much?"

"Do not worry about it, Aunt. It is hardly your fault that you and Elrond are close, and that she is not as powerful as you and so she cannot expose herself to danger as much."

Those words felt like Avorneth drew a spear through her heart, and it took Galadriel a moment to be able to answer. "Is that why she is upset with me?" She asked.

"Well, yes, though I would not exactly say she was upset with you. She feels inferior, well aware that had she been like you, she could have stayed by Elrond without worrying him." Avorneth paused. "Are you unwell, Aunt?"

"I have been better," Galadriel answered, taking a deep breath. "But never mind that now. Yes, you should probably go to Celebrían, but before you do, I have a favour to ask of you."

"Yes?"

"With Sauron possibly gaining strength again, we need to know how much he can do without the ring, and how much the ring can do when someone else has it. If Curunír has any discoveries in this regard, he did not share them with us. And you are the most qualified person to answer these questions..."

Avorneth inclined her head. "I can only travel to Rivendell after the matter with Angmar is over and done with, with Celebrían," she said. "Is it enough to get on the topic once there?"

"Of course," Galadriel agreed easily. It was not a truly pressing matter, but it had occurred to her recently in a conversation with Olórin. The sooner the work would be started on, the better, but it could wait a few years with no difficulty. "I suppose there is a better library there..." She added.

"I do not need a library as much as I need some of the smiths of Hollin that are still left in Rivendell," Avorneth replied. "Túron can tell me much, but not all. But there is another reason, too." She smiled softly. "If I am to be leaving soon, I would like to spend as much time as I can with Ealc before I go."

"Naturally. That is understandable, even though I am not certain how soon it will actually be, if you are to wait here until the danger of Angmar passes, or at least retreats."

Avorneth nodded grimly. Through Ealc's position in the council, she was well enough aware of the gravity of the situation.

"About the smiths, though," Galadriel added, "just...be certain they are completely trustworthy before you do."

Avorneth gave her a look that seemed almost chiding. "They are elves of Hollin. They would rather cut off their own hands than be of any help to Sauron ever again."

"A pity they did not realize that earlier, is it not?" Galadriel replied before she could stop herself, her old bitterness re-emerging.

"Believe me, Aunt, no one could be more regretful of that than them."

Galadriel was not so certain of that, for her own regret was sharp like a blade freshly forged, but she did not say anything. She knew that when Avorneth spoke of the smiths, she always thought of her father, and any insults to them would therefore be extremely painful. Instead, she only nodded at the younger lady and turned to leave in search of Celeborn and some comfort.

She stopped, however, when she was in the doorway. "Do you believe," she asked slowly, "that it would make Celebrían feel better if she could speak to Elrond, if only for a moment?"

"It is possible," Avorneth replied, "but how…?"

"I will lend her the ring for a while," Galadriel replied.

"No," Avorneth said, one sharp, direct word. "Forgive me," she added at Galadriel's startled look. "But that is not a good plan. Perhaps before she had children, but...she is not strong enough."

"Not strong enough to bear the ring for a few minutes?"

"To bear it? Certainly. But not to wear it." Avorneth hesitated. "Do you remember what you felt when you first wore the ring?"

Galadriel thought back. "As if great waves were crashing all over me..."

"They were difficult to manage even for Uncle, when you used to lend him the ring. He used to come and consult me on how to make it more bearable. Celebrían could not resist those waves."

And with that, Galadriel knew not even Celeborn could console her, and so she fled to the privacy of the hill with her Mirror, and there, she allowed herself to be consumed by her guilt.

It was the fate of the Noldor, indeed.

-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-

Elladan and Elrohir had deposited Arwen and their mother in Lindórinand before departing south, but they returned now, much earlier than they were expected, and horrified.

They called to their grandmother in their minds, and she found them in Amroth's house, Elrohir restlessly shifting in a chair and Elladan pacing around the room.

"There's an illness sweeping through the cities of Gondor," he said as he turned to her, wide-eyed, as soon as she entered. "I've never seen anything so terrible. There are dead and dying lying in the streets, and no one left to care for them. Osgiliath has become truly a place of horror."

"We saw Spenna's grandchildren," Elrohir added quietly. "Those who live in the capital. One of them has come down with the illness. It seems they are more resistant to it than their fully Second-born kin are, but it was still horrifying to watch."

"That means you're in danger, as well," Galadriel replied, alarmed. She felt sorry for the people of Gondor, but not sorry enough that she would be indifferent to the possibility to her own grandchildren dying. There was something more ominous, to her mind, to succumbing to illness than to dying of a wound received in battle. She was used to battles. They had been her daily bread for many years. But illnesses...illnesses were not natural to elves, and so the idea of her own grandchildren dying of one seemed a particular horror to Galadriel.

However, Elladan said in a determined voice: "In less danger than the people of Gondor. I've never been so sorry in my life that I never cared to learn anything of healing from my father."

"We came to beg, Amroth," Elrohir admitted plainly. "If you have but one healer you can do without, send them there. Elves can't die of this sickness, and you could save many lives."

Amroth seemed indecisive. "I certainly won't prevent anyone," he said, "but my people have no great healing powers, and no history of dealing with Men much. They wouldn't regard such an order kindly. The Silvan would ignore me entirely, I'm sure of that, but not even the Sindar… Perhaps you'd do better to send to your father..."

"My king, if I may?" Galadriel interrupted.

"Yes?" Amroth turned to her, surprised at the formal address.

"There are a few healers from Hithlum left still among the Noldor of this realm, and their apprentices. Allow me to speak with them, and give them leave to go if they wish to."

He considered. "Very well, then," he relented. "Send as many as are willing to go."

Elladan and Elrohir accompanied Galadriel to the mountains, and were profuse in their thanks. "You haven't seen it," Elrohir said, "but it was..."

"I know, beloved," she said softly. She did not, not truly, but she felt the horror from his mind clearly enough even without looking at the images. "There's no need to make yourself remember again."

"I shall never forget it," he muttered.

"We'd have gone to get father's healers, of course," Elladan explained, "but they are further away, and so many people die every day, time is of the essence."

"I can't promise how many will go," Galadriel cautioned. "They never had many dealings with Men either, contrary to your father's people, and though I taught them all how to care for the Second born before the last war, they might not feel too strong an obligation. I'm sorry I cannot go myself, but with the shadow growing ever stronger..."

"You don't have to justify yourself to us, grandmother." Elladan reassured her. "Besides," he added, "they're your people. I'm quite confident that a word from you, and they'll go."

Galadriel smiled, bittersweet. That could not be said of all her people in the past, but yes, perhaps if this was true of any group at all, it was true of those who had followed her from Hithlum and then through so many broken kingdoms. Of their loyalty, at least, she was certain.

Feliel welcomed them in the Noldorin city, just lounging over a game with Banja. "My lady, my lords," she said when she spotted the visitors, and both ladies rose and bowed. "What can we do for you?"

"We're in need of your healers," Galadriel said, and motioned for the twins to explain.

"I'll go as well, if you will have me," Banja said, not very surprisingly, when the narrative ended on a request.

"My love," Feliel said with a frown, "the lords said it's dangerous to the half-elven as well..."

"And yet they still go," Banja replied mildly. "So can I. Besides, I may be of use. I know your healers are trained in caring for the Second born as well, my lady," she said with a bow towards Galadriel, "but I still might have some specific experience they lack, being the healer in our family for millennia."

"Does your mother get frequently ill?" Galadriel asked curiously.

"Not frequently, no – living among the elves, where'd she catch the illness? But sometimes, and in such a long time, it's still enough cases that I have practice. Yes, I'll go, with your leave."

"Do you want me to come with you?" Feliel asked, casting a worried look at Galadriel.

"No, my love," Banja said softly. "You have your duties here, and the sons of Elrond will protect me, won't you?"

"Of course, my lady," Elladan said gallantly.

"We'll protect you from any attack or danger of this sort," Elrohir clarified. "But from the illness..."

"... _I_ will do my best to protect _you_ ," Banja finished.

-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-

Elladan and Elrohir left with the healers, and not long after, Arwen came to speak to Galadriel in her house.

"Not long ago," she said over a cup of wine, "I used to believe that my brothers wasted their time by childish entertainments. Now look at us. They are saving people in Gondor and helping its exiled kings, and I? What am I doing?"

"Not everyone has the same callings, beloved," Galadriel said gently.

"I know, and I am mostly happy and content in my life, do not mistake me."

There was some wistfulness in her voice, though, and Galadriel asked: "Are you still lonely?"

"Yes. Is it so strange? For millennium and a half, I have walked this world alone. That is longer than you waited for Uncle."

"But a shorter time than your father waited for your mother."

"Yes," Arwen agreed, "and he was lonely, desperately so."

Galadriel had to concede that much. "It is true," she said then, "that even I was lonely, before I met your grandfather." She was now sometimes, too, but that was different. It was because she missed particular people, particular people she had known. Arwen had been spared that pain so far.

Arwen smiled softly at that. "So why do you wonder?" She asked.

"Perhaps I do not wonder, I simply...wish it were not so."

"So do I, but there is nothing to be done, is there not? The Flame cannot be hastened." Arwen sighed. "I have sometimes wondered if the one for me did not live on this shore, if he lived in the West instead..."

Galadriel thought of the vision in her mirror, and stayed silent.

After a moment, Arwen returned to the previous topic: "Apart from my occasional loneliness, I am happy and content," she said. "But sometimes, I feel that I live too much for myself. My brothers, as you know, are forever dashing about in the realms of Men, helping wherever they can, and when they are not, they do some important work for our father or for you. But me...sometimes I help Father with healing, but I do not have particular talent for it, nor do I find my calling in that. And what else do I do?"

Galadriel shook her head. "You are a scholar and an artist, beloved. These things help, too."

"Perhaps. It seems somehow insufficient, though, when I look at what my brothers do."

"It seems your father's self-deprecation has passed on to you, something I would not have expected. There is more than one way of helping, of making he world a better place," Galadriel pointed out.

"If I was a first-class scholar, then perhaps that is what I would feel as well," Arwen conceded, "but I do not need to read his mind to know what Erestor thinks of my work."

"Erestor thinks very little of anyone's work but his, and even about that I am not entirely certain," Galadriel said with a hint of sharpness directed at the scholar. "Do not let him get you down, you know Lord Laurefindil never does."

"No," Arwen said with a laugh, "but then, he has effective methods of making him be nice!" She sighed. "On a more serious note, though, no one can doubt that Lord Laurefindil lives entirely selflessly. I...do not."

Galadriel pressed her hand. "I have known truly selfish people," she said, "and I have known those who, while not entirely selfish, were very self-contained at least. You are neither."

"You are speaking of Lúthien," Arwen guessed, from the many stories Galadriel had told her of her lookalike.

"Yes," the Nolde confessed. "Even just...when we talked about Spenna, you wondered how he could leave his family behind. I do not think this crossed Lúthien's mind once when she fell in love with Beren. Of course, she did not know what her fate would be at that time, but still."

"But I thought...you always said you supported her in her love?"

"I did. Just as I supported your uncle – and would support you if it was ever needed," she made herself add. "But still I know the difference. Elros, while he loved Adanel with all his heart, was still being torn apart by what his death did to his brother. Lúthien...she had a happy nature in this. She could not entirely step out of herself in this way. You are not like that, and even less can you be called entirely selfish. After all, that you have these worries alone shows it perfectly."

"Should it not be our actions, though, where our morality shows? What good is it to anyone how I feel?"

"But I told you. Your art and writing...is enough."

"It never feels like it is. Perhaps loneliness was not the right word. It feels...empty, sometimes."

Galadriel felt another shudder of premonition go down her spine.


	84. Frustration

**Chapter 84: Frustration**

 _Year 1810 of the Third Age, Lindórinand_

„Conquer," Tugu said once the council was over and the immediate problems settled. „That's the only thing Gondor can do. Conquer, conquer, conquer."

"Umbar was continually attacking them," Galadriel pointed out. "They are traditionally loyalist of the Usurper. Surely you can't sympathise with them? I remember how much you despised him."

"Oh yes," Tugu confirmed. "If I could believe the reason for the campaign was solely the desire to ensure the safety of Gondor, I could cope with it easily. But unfortunately, I was there." She shook her head. "He changed his name! That ridiculous king actually changed is name in celebration! To pat himself on the back, to show what a great conqueror he is! There are crucial fortresses vacant on the borders of Mordor just as the darkness is rising again, but no, the king decides he has men to spare to gain himself a fancy title!"

Tugu had a point, but Galadriel also could not help but be amused. "If Magrandoro is as you say it is," she remarked, "I don't understand how you could have survived there."

"And why do you think I convinced my parents to get away?" Tugu asked with a chuckle, but then grew serious. "Whatever my objections against the realm – and there were many -"

"Is there something you don't have many objections against?" Galadriel asked conversationally.

Tugu gave it some serious thought. "Not truly," she admitted. "In any case, there were some grave injustices to be found in that realm, but its king was actually a good king. For the kind of realm it was, at least. I didn't agree with many of their rules and customs, but he did his duty wisely and justly and with the best interest of his people at heart. I consider Amroth a relatively good king, but he dislikes the office and it shows. King of Magrandoro was born for it." She cocked her head. "Like you, a little."

Galadriel sighed. "Do you mean to make me feel even more sorry that I never travelled that far when I still could have?"

"I'm not certain he'd receive you, though perhaps if you travelled as an official envoy of a king, he would have. There weren't many strangers, outsiders or newcomers at his court."

"If I understand you correctly, there were not many in his kingdom."

"True enough."

"At any rate, whatever you think about Gondor's priorities, it's a good thing that Umbar isn't a danger any more," Galadriel returned to the original topic. "Both Angmar and the Necromancer are gaining strength, and we will need to concentrate on that."

"Angmar too? Again?" Tugu asked, frustrated. "I thought Elrond was finally successful in hic campaign – when was it, a century ago?."

"It was pushed back a good deal, but not eradicated, unfortunately," Galadriel replied, something she had said to many times before, "and it's gaining strength again. But the difference now is that...Arthedain is in no shape to fight it now, and Elrond can't do it alone. We'll need an alliance if we want to as much as push them back again for a time once more, let alone have any hope of getting rid of that danger once and for all. And we will need Arthedain back on its feet."

"Why wasn't it eradicated this last time, anyway?" Tugu asked.

"No one truly knows," Galadriel admitted, her fears showing through. "We push them back, and they always rise again. It makes me worried about that Witch-King of theirs. I was inclined not to believe it was Gorthaur, but now, as I watch this ability...it could be. It very well could be."

"You don't think a Ringwraith could do that?" Tugu was curious.

"I don't know, to be honest," Galadriel said with a sigh. "We know so little about them, except for their abilities on the battlefield...we don't even know if they can exist and serve Gorthaur, without him having the ring."

"What if he does?"

Galadriel shook her head resolutely. "We'd know. The moment he finds it, we will." Tugu didn't need to know about the ring on Galadriel's finger, but this reassurance was probably healthy.

Tugu shrugged. "Very well, I believe you, but then why assume the Witch-King is a Ringwraith?"

"Because it is the closet we know to a creature of this sort. It might be some entire new horror, too, of course. Gorthaur is ever full of surprises."

-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-

Not too long after this talk, she headed to Khazad-dûm to speak to the dwarves about the latest war development.

"At least some good news," King Oin muttered.

"Why, have there been some bad ones?"

"I would say! The dragons are on the move again, and this time on a larger scale."

Galadriel closed her eyes. "This is not unrelated," she muttered.

"Probably not," he agreed, "though I'm surprised – I thought you said that the dragons wouldn't listen to Gorthaur?"

"Not the way they listened to the Enemy," she confirmed, "but Gorthaur has other ways. He is the master of cajoling and persuading, and I suppose not even the dragons are immune to that. We don't know what he promised them, but it must have been something worthy."

"He promised them my people's realms, most likely," the king muttered.

"Unfortunately, you are probably right, though that might be just the beginning." She sighed. "I'm only surprised Mordor is still uninhabited, even though Gondor is no longer guarding it so closely. All the other signs that war will be upon us soon are here."

"What do you mean when you say soon, elf?"

"A few centuries."

He chuckled darkly. "Ah, I rather thought so. Well, I won't live long enough to see it, then."

"But your grandson just might," she pointed out.

"Yes. I wasn't trying to get out of doing our part, don't worry."

"I'm afraid we won't be able to help with the dragons this time," Galadriel said frankly. "Elrond has his hands full with Angmar."

"I'm aware. At this point, I'm not too keen to send our boys either. There's too much danger all around. But we will make mithril armour, and we will send that at least."

"I thought there was little enough mithril left in Khazad-dûm?"

He shook his head. "There is enough of it. It's just deeper than we'd normally go."

Galadriel frowned. "Why?"

"There are dangers in the depths of the mountains, as you yourself warned us, and we were getting too close to them."

This worried Galadriel. "Are you certain, in that case, that it's wise to mine there?" She asked cautiously.

He gave her a pointed look. "The dragons are a certainty. Angmar and the Necromancer near enough to that, too. I will take my chances with the depth and its uncertainty against this."

Galadriel sighed. She did not like it, but she could not argue with his logic. She, too, would have taken every chance had it meant increased hopes of defeating Sauron, or any of the other dark creatures that seemed to be swarming over Middle-Earth in the last centuries.

-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-

The news from dwarves, in turn, necessitated speaking to Elrond and Gandalf both.

She could feel Elrond's guilt at his inability to send anyone to help against the dragons at this time before he even said anything, and forestalled him. _I wonder,_ she said, _if this is how you and Artanáro usually felt when you saw my guilt over the realms I saw fall. But this is truly excessive. Not even I felt this way for being unable to prevent, say, Ondolindë from falling,_

 _You were living in a desperate last colony of elves in Middle-Earth_ , Elrond pointed out. _It was rather different, I would say._

 _Together with Balar, we did not have that much less people than Rivendell does._

 _No – but you faced a much more dreadful enemy._

Galadriel had to concede that was true, but then she shook her head. _Are we in truth discussing it? I only used it as an example to show you the absurdity of this particular guilt, from my point of view. I can understand what you feel for Númen_ _ó_ _rë to a degree – perhaps even Arnor – but_ _this is too much._

He smiled, sadly. _I suppose I will have to take you as the expert on guilt and accept that_ , he said.

 _My concern is more practical_ , Galadriel said after a moment. _What if the dragons are successful? What does that mean for us?_

 _Surely not much? It is not as if the Red Mountain dwarves were our allies._ She sensed his hesitation, and then he added: _In fact, terrible as it is to say, if they perish, it might weaken Sauron in the upcoming war._

 _Yes,_ she admitted, _that is not the concern I have – not the practical one, at least. But what of the dragons, then?_

 _You know that better than I do,_ he pointed out.

She shook her head, even though he could not see her. _When I knew them, they were in service to the Enemy. It is difficult for me to judge what they will do as independent, and how successful Sauron can be in getting them on his side._

 _They are attracted to the gold, are they not? So will they stay with it?_

 _I hope so. All my wisdom tells me they should – unless they get a strong impetus to the opposite. And that impetus we cannot predict._

 _There seems very little we can predict about them_. He sighed. _I will ask Erestor, perhaps he can dig something up in the books that will help us._

 _I am not certain that the practical experience_ _of_ _Lord Laurefindil would not be more valuable in this,_ Galadriel replied, _but_ _I do not know the entire content of your library, of course. You took a good part of what was most valuable in Caras Aear with you. There might be something._

 _I will do my best to find it,_ he promised.

He left her to do just that, she assumed, and so she turned her mind to Olórin to give him the news.

He was worried. _I would go there,_ he said _, to check how bad it is, but it is too far for me to be willing to venture. I do not wish to leave the vicinity of_ _the Shadow in_ _Mirkwood now. Still, scouts would be...good._

 _Normally I would ask if Elladan and Elrohir were willing to go, even though it is further than they ever venture...but now is not the time._

Olórin quite agreed. _Do you have anyone in your kingdom who could be willing to go?_

 _Perhaps Tugu,_ Galadriel replied. _She enjoys travel, and indeed is never content when she sits in one place for too long. But_ _she has just returned from Gondor, and I wish to give her a little respite with her husband before I send her away again._

 _I suppose there is no immediate hurry,_ Olórin said. _The dragons did not move too quickly last time, from what you have told me, so hopefully they will not do so now either._

 _Does your wisdom tell you anything about that?_

She sensed the answer even before she heard his voice in her mind. _I do not know any more than what you have told me,_ he said. _Not about this._

For a thousandth time in her life, Galadriel lamented the decision to leave the envoys so little of the knowledge they had from the West. _Where are you now?_ She asked curiously.

 _In Harad,_ he replied.

She laughed at that. _Did you not_ _say you did not wish to go too far from_ _the Shadow of_ _Mirkwood? That seems far enough._

 _Only about as far as when I go to to the Grey Havens._

 _That means it is further than to the Withered Heath._

 _That is true,_ he conceded. _But it is on a good road, and I know I could be back in a month or two if something arose._ _Withered Heath would be close enough, I suppose – as long as Thranduil let me p_ _a_ _ss through his realm unopposed, there are ways to travel reasonably quickly a good part of the way – but very likely the exploration would take me further East to track the movement of dragons, and r_ _eturning from beyond Mirkwood is always more time-consuming._

 _I will have to take your word for it,_ Galadriel replied, regretful once more that she had never gone there. _I suppose it is not a wonder that the Easterlings do not wish to build good roads for Gondorin armies to march on. Their own armies do not need them._

 _Not only armies,_ Olórin added. _I have not been to the_ _true_ _East myself, but from what Curunír told me, it is a very poor man indeed who does not have a horse in those lands._

Galadriel raised her eyebrows at that. In Gondor, she knew, owning a horse was quite a luxury, and even in Númenórë it had not been quite so common. She wondered. _Will you ask him about the dragons?_ She queried. _I know he is studied in lore – he might know something, even if this is not his usual field of focus._

She could hear the amused astonishment in the tone of his mental voice as he replied, _You, asking for Curunír's help? The times are truly coming to an end, my friend._

 _Well, I am asking you to ask him – that makes it easier,_ she replied jokingly before growing serious and saying, _I know I am unjust to him. I am trying to be better in this, truly I am, but it is difficult. He sits ill with me for some reason._

 _I would no_ _t_ _discount your premonitions even when I cannot agree with them_ , he returned. _It does no harm for you to be cautious, if you remain aware that your prejudice has no basis so far_. He paused. _In fact, I have already discussed the dragons with him – only in theory, you understand, as it was before receiving thee most recent news – and I fear his position is unlikely to endear him to you. He counselled against any intervention in the East._

 _Why?_ Galadriel wondered.

 _He argues that, as the dwarves of the Red Mountains fought on the side of the Enemy, it will only benefit us if they are to be eliminated._

Galadriel was shocked. She had considered this fact herself, of course, with Elrond just recently, but merely as a thing to be aware of. They would not let it actually influence their decision, had she any forces to send East. Was it truly only her own prejudice against Curunír, or was everything about this man – this Maia – very sinister?

-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-

Amroth returned from a trip to Mirkwood, where he had not gone for a very long time, in a melancholy mood.

"I thought," he told Galadriel, "that they exaggerated when they spoke of the darkness in the forest, but it is truly changed beyond recognition. It is...painful to see."

"Do you remember it fondly?"

"It was only my home for a short time, and not as a place of my birth, but still...it was an important moment, moving away east, someone so close to me by blood becoming king...I do have a special relationship to that place, in spite of everything. But it is gone now."

Galadriel put a hand on his arm. "Don't despair," she said. "It might be green again one day, when we defeat the evil there."

"It is difficult not to despair at times," he returned. "After all, how can you defeat the evil when Thranduil will not allow it?"

Galadriel only pressed his arm harder, and after a moment, he sighed and said: "It is hard to hope when I feel like the last possible source of it has perished. Thranduil finally married."

"Oh?" Galadriel had stopped hoping for that a long time ago. "And he never as much as notified you?"

"You know how he is."

"I do indeed. Do you believe his wife will not be a good influence, then?"

"She most certainly is – she lifts his dark moods and makes him smile – but I am not certain she is interested in influencing his politics in any way. I tried speaking to her, but she was not...receptive."

"Do you think she thought you were trying to turn her against him?"

"Possibly, but mostly, my impression was that she was simply not interested. She cares for her husband, and her family, and her friends, and for singing and dancing. Anything beyond that..."

"Don't despise her for it," Galadriel said. "There is nothing wrong with it."

"Not in a regular elf, certainly," he agreed, "but in a queen?"

"Ah, but she did not choose to feel the Flame for him. You should know that better than most," galadriel said pointedly.

Amroth only sighed in response.

"Has there been any development on that front?" Galadriel enquired.

"Of a sort – Nimrodel has now told me, with finality, that had I not been knig she would marry me. I am...more tempted that I should be. I know I cannot abandon my people in these difficult times, but it is coming to feel more and more like a ball on my leg."

Galadriel gave him a beseeching look. "Wait until the current dangers are dealt with, at least," she implored him.

"What, until the Shadow is eliminated? We have just discussed that there seems to be no hope for that in any foreseeable future."

"Then until Angmar is eliminated. Please."

"I will...try," he replied, heavily.

-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-

As was to be expected, Celebrían and her children came to Lindórinand some years later, to be safe from Angmar.

Celebrían was no less frustrated by this than the last time, and she was having harder time masking it.

"Understand him, beloved," Celeborn said. "He worries. I am glad you are here in safety as well."

"Of course you are," she replied sharply. "I wonder, did you try to keep Mother cocooned in warm blankets during the First Age, too?"

Celeborn smiled at the idea. "I knew when we married there would be no hope of that."

"Precisely. Aredhel, too, refused to be kept locked somewhere, and so did Sarnel and Ohtarwen and many others. Lúthien, when her father locked her up, escaped."

Celeborn flinched at this implicit comparison. "Most of them died of it," he reminded her sharply.

"Lúthien did not, and neither did my mother."

"Yes, because they-"

Galadriel, who had only been watching the conversation until now, intervened at this point, knowing what Celeborn meant to say and that it would only make matters worse."Beloved," she said, knowing she would draw her daughter's ire towards herself, "this is not your father's fault in any sense. Do not take your anger out on him."

"Should I switch to you, then?"

"If you wish." I certainly deserve it more, she thought bitterly.

"I remember your stories," Celebrían said. "You always defended all of these ladies, and their choices, against their fathers and husbands. Where is that defence when it comes to me?"

"Is it not usual that a mother should be worried for her daughter, too?"

"Oh, certainly – but for _you_ to be worried about _me_ is a strange idea indeed."

Distantly, in the small area of her mind that was not screaming in pain at those words, Galadriel wondered how could Celeborn ever have thought that Ceůebrían did not have his failing of saying hurtful things when angry.

"Celebrían," he now said, sharply, but she only gave him a level look that did not give in an inch.

Galadriel, when she could speak again, decided not to argue the point, and instead said: "Surely if nothing else, you can understand how completely devastated Elrond would be if something happened to you?"

"Oh, of course, Elrond! I never doubted you would take care to regard his well-being-"

"He is your husband, I would have thought-"

It was in this moment that Avorneth fairly burst into the room, Arwen at her heels.

When Celebrían set her eyes on her daughter, she froze, and swallowed whatever it was she had been about to say. The silence was very loud for a moment, then Avorneth marched to her best friend and hooked her arm under Celebrían's.

"Come," she said, "let us walk together," and effectively marched Celebrían out of the room.

"What happened?" Arwen asked, sounding a little lost, when it was only her and her grandparents left in the room.

Galadriel gave a very long and deep exhale. "Your mother wishes to be by your father's side," she said then, and left as well. Surely, for once, Celeborn could handle his granddaughter and her curious questions.

-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-

AN: Because fuck the notion that the dwarves dug "to deep" because of their "greed." Seriously. Did you forget what mithril was used for, Gandalf?


	85. Breaking Point

**Chapter 85: Breaking Point**

 _Year 1974 of the Third Age, Lindórinand_

It was a fool's hope, perhaps, to believe that Arthedain would manage to hold its own against the relentless barge of attacks from Angmar indefinitely, but it was still a hope they had all clung to. That was why the message that Fornost had fallen saddened them so much, though not exactly surprised them.

Elrond learned of it first, when a messenger from Lord Laurefindil's troops arrived. He let Galadriel know, and they grieved together for a time, even as she tried to console him. She herself had little personal ties to the place and had, in fact, never been there, thus feeling mostly the general pain of any loss of life and signs of advancing darkness, and the awareness of the strategic loss. She was deeply sorry for Elrond, though, whom this news touched much more personally. And Celebrían was still in Lindórinand, unwilling as she was, so she was not present to offer the comfort that was so needed. Galadriel did what she could, all the while understanding that she could hardly ever replace the role of a spouse.

Lord Laurefindil returned to Rivendell in person a fortnight later, and with him came more details about the loss. Galadriel, her mind attuned to Elrond's, heard his report.

"It was a feint, my lord," he said. "The attack we rode out against. Or perhaps feint is not the correct word, for the danger there was very real, but there was another, stronger army that came at Fornost."

"How did the Witch-King gain so many troops?" Elrond asked, frustrated.

"He must have been keeping them secret," Lord Laurefindil replied, "somewhere underground, far from our sight."

 _They were hidden by something_ _with_ _more power,_ Galadriel commented. _Neither of us had any premonitions, the Mirror did not show me anything...there were spells involved._

"So the city is lost for good?" Elrond asked Lord Laurefindil.

"Yes. They burned it, and there are only ruins left. We brought as many refugees as we could with us, and we will go looking for more."

"They can stay for a time," Elrond agreed, "but not indefinitely. Rivendell is small, and we could not support all of them them. Their lands have to be made habitable again if we are all to have a hope of survival."

That seemed to surprise Lord Laurefindil. "You mean to conquer Angmar, my lord? We do not have enough strength for that."

"Not alone, no," Elrond agreed.

 _I will speak to Amroth,_ Galadriel said, _but I am almost certain that he will not wish to send too many. Some, hopefully, but certainly not his entire army. For a good reason, too – it would not surprise me_ _if_ _the Witch-King and the Necromancer coordinated their attacks._

 _And Hadhodrond?_

 _Much the same, I imagine. They will send some help, but not enough to defeat Angmar._

 _I will try to ask Lord Ciryatan, but it will be all too similar, I believe. There is no choice, we will have to turn to Gondor._

 _Do you believe they will come?_ The kind of foolishness the kings of Gondor displayed in the last few centuries, from what she heard from stories, was not dissimilar to what she remembered from Númenórë. And while that realm of Men did come to fight against Sauron twice, in the end, it had always been just a little too late, in one way or another. Though, she mused, it would perhaps be similar here. Just as Númenórë did not come in time to save Hollin, Gondor, if it came, would not come in time to save Arthedain.

When one lived too long on this shore, everything one saw began to seem a repetition of what had come before.

 _I hope they will,_ Elrond replied _. I would send Elladan and Elrohir but I need them here to look for refugees, they are my best trackers and scouts. Could Tugu perhaps go? If she is willing, of course...but she keeps in touch with her descendants in Dol Amroth, does she not? Lord Imrazôr has influence with the king. Could you send her?_

Galadriel agreed easily _._ _If they do not send help_ , she said, _then we can at_ _least_ _be certain she will let them know how wrong they are to deny it._

Gondor did send help, however. All was calm in the south for the time being, and the Crown Prince of Gondor, besides being a friend of Imrazôr, wanted to have his name in the chronicles as one leading a glorious war. And so most of the Gondorin army sailed North, with Rivendell and some Lindórinand and Khazad-dûm troops joining them on the field of battle.

Galadriel spent the day pacing near her fountain, her mind connected to Elrond's as she listened to what he could glean from Lord Laurefindil and, sometimes, from the lesser commanders as well. She prayed and hoped that they would manage to push Angmar back again, and that it would last long this time, two or three centuries at least, long enough to give all the survivors of Arthedain some hope of life until they were endangered again.

She prayed and hoped...and the day was won, and Angmar was destroyed. Destroyed for good.

It was more than anyone had hoped for, after years of trying for that in vain, but it truly happened. There was no trace of Angmar left in any visions, and the Mirror did not show anything of it, even though Galadriel had checked several times and had had Celeborn look as well, just to be certain.

 _How?_ She asked Elrond, shocked.

 _I do not know_ , he replied, equally astonished. _Part of it, certainly, is that Lord Laurefindil cut off the Witch-King's retreat, something we had never managed before, but still, even so, I would have expected that_ _even_ _if only he_ _alone_ _escaped, he would try to build his realm again._

Galadriel had to agree _. How did he manage to escape?_ She asked, hoping for clues. _Did he have some support, or…?_

 _Lord Laurefindil stopped the_ _Crown_ _Prince from following him,_ Elrond explained. _It seems he had a vision._

 _A vision?_ Galadriel knew he had them sometimes, but it was infrequent enough to make the occasion exceptional. _Of what?_

 _He refuses to tell me exactly, but what he said is that the Witch-King will not fall by the hand of Man, and that it will not be soon._ Elrond paused, and she could hear the frown even in his mental voice as he added: _He also keeps chuckling when he tells me of his prophecy._

 _Chuckling?_ Galadriel asked incredulously _._ Lord Laurefindil was, of course, usually in good spirits, but still this situation seemed to hardly call for it. But perhaps it was the sort of dark humour one sometimes had when one was beyond despair. _I am glad he manages to find something humorous in the fact that the Witch-King escaped us,_ she commented.

 _We did win,_ Elrond pointed out.

 _Did we?_ Galadriel asked a little sharply _. That the Witch-King did not return to his land seems to indicate that he has different plans now, more far-reaching than merely Angmar. And Angmar was bad enough._ She paused, and sighed. There would be enough time for this later. She should allow Elrond to take joy where he could _. But at least something good came of it,_ she conceded. _I suppose Lord Laurefindil is certain it was not Sauron?_

 _Yes, positive._

 _Good. That is one question answered._

-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-

„You should set out for another trip to Mirkwood again," Galadriel told Olórin as they sat together by her fountain some years later, when he next arrived to Lindórinand. „I am almost certain the evil there is Sauron now, and we will need it confirmed by someone else than me if we want to have any hope of convincing Thranduil to allow us to interfere. Also, if we wait much longer, it might grow in strength enough that it would be difficult for us to defeat it."

"Have you finally recognized the mind, then?" He asked curiously.

"No – it is still not quite conscious – but the amount of power it has...well, we know he was not in Angmar, so that makes it likely the Witch-King was the Lord of the Ringwraiths. And who else could it be?"

"Some other servant of the Enemy?" He suggested.

Galadriel gave a small shrug. It was always possible, of course, but… "We know it is no dragon or balrog – that would look quite different – and to our best knowledge, he had no other servants powerful enough to qualify."

Olórin nodded his assent. "It still worries me the Ringwraith escaped them at the battle of Fornos."

Galadriel smiled. "Well, I have told you the prophecy Lord Laurefindil made about it. He continues to find it amusing." In fact, as time progressed, she had began to do so as well. She still did not know what he actually saw, but it was entertaining to speculate at times.

Olórin considered. "Do you believe it is your fate to kill him, my friend?"

"Oh no," Galadriel said immediately. "Lord Laurefindil would have told me, and besides, he would not laugh so much at that prospect – I hope!"

"You are probably right, but it is a pity – if it was, we could simply send you after him now and be done with one threat to Middle-Earth at least."

"Yes, but then, when has it ever been so easy?"

At this point, as if to illustrate what she said, they were interrupted by a messenger, one who had obviously run a long way very quickly to reach them. "My lady," he said, "something happened in Hadhodrond. The dwarves are running away, and the mountains themselves seem to be angry."

A dark foreboding rose in Galadriel. "I have to go and see them immediately," she said and then turned to Olórin. "Will you find Amroth and speak with him, please?"

He only nodded, and she rushed among the trees to the north-eastern border, wishing desperately that her conclusions were not right. But there had been more and more mithril coming out of Khazad-dûm, and she feared very much that the time had come to pay.

From the outside, there seemed nothing wrong with the realm, but as she approached its gates, she noted the increased activity, and some frantic running around of armed guards.

"What happened?" She asked the first dwarf she reached, sharply, still a little out of breath after her long run.

He gave her a quick look, and when he recognized her, a perfunctory bow. "We...don't know, lady," he muttered. "Something dark and terrible awoke in the depths, and...the king is dead, and..."

Galadriel spared only a fleeting thought for the dead king. "What kind of dark and terrible thing?"

"We don't know! It was too terrifying to look upon, the shadows it seemed to be made of so dark, and even the flame was something twisted...oh, our king!"

Dread filled Galadriel upon hearing those words. Shadow and flame...there was only one terrible monster she knew that fitted that description, and the idea of it living so near her home was terrifying, as little was to her these days.

Without a conscious direction, her mind went to Findekáno and his terrible last moments, burning, swarmed by those monsters, dying in pain and his thoughts still being with her.

She shook herself. There were matters to arrange, and she could not afford to dwell in painful memories.

The other dwarves were not much more coherent than the one she spoke with first, and it appeared there was no more information to be got out of them. Galadriel offered her assistance, but it was not useful at a time of such confusion, and so she returned, to at least not leave her own realm unprotected.

As she walked back at a more leisurely pace than when headed in the opposite direction, she contemplated the horrible situation. If it truly was as she feared, as she surmised...what to do? Was there a way to save Khazad-dûm? Her own realm, too?

The safest thing for the dwarves to do now, she knew, would be to evacuate their kingdom at least for a time, until the danger was dealt with. But that would always be a difficult idea to sell, for she knew that very many lived there who had never left its depths in their lives. And while the old king was reasonable enough, if he was dead and his son ruled in his stead...there was no speaking to the dwarf on a good day, and grief was unlikely to make him more reasonable.

She went to share the news with Amroth, but she only found Olórin in the royal flet. "The king left," he said, "to pursue his lady love, if I understand the situation correctly. She fled in reaction to the events."

Galadriel exhaled. "Is he coming back?" She asked. Not that she was exactly surprised. She herself was very glad Celebrían and Arwen had left Lindórinand as soon as Angmar was defeated. It might not be a very safe place now, in spite of her ring.

"He intended so, from what I gathered," Olórin replied.

"Good."

There was a short silence as she paced the flet. "Have you found out the cause of the disruption?" He asked then.

Galadriel turned her worried face to him. "Not conclusively, but...they speak of shadow and flame, my friend."

"Is that…?"

Galadriel cursed Olórin's lost memory for the umpteenth time. "Unless the dwarves see things very differently than we do...A balrog, yes." He had read about them and heard about them from her, of course, but the brief descriptions were not, naturally, enough for him to be certain.

"So you believe there was one sleeping under the mountains?"

"It would appear so," she replied, doing her best to keep her horror at bay. He could see it in her mind, no doubt, but it would be better if she did not put it in words as well. She sat down to speak to him properly, to explain. "I have told you the Valar were not very diligent with making sure they captured or killed the strongest servants of Morgoth – they let Sauron escape, for goodness' sake. The balrog could have run east from Angband and burrowed itself under the mountains here, sleeping until the dwarves, urged on by the accursed ring, mined deep enough to wake it." She gave a tired sigh. "I did warn them, but when has that ever helped anything? If my own kind does not listen to me, I can hardly expect the dwarves to. And they had good enough reason to ignore my advice, at least."

They sat in silence, and Galadriel contemplated the situation. A balrog...she was not afraid of one, exactly. If she met one on an open plain, she would face it, and she even had confidence that she would walk away alive, while the balrog would not. But one dwelling so close to Lindórinand, directly in the oldest realm of Middle-Earth, the beautiful dwarven kingdom...that was another thing entirely. Many could die because of that. Many had died already.

She herself could not simply go and try to kill it. Even though she believed it was almost certain she would defeat the creature, accidents and misfortune did happen, and her promise to Findekáno still bound her. Was there someone else, someone who could go?

Suddenly, she chuckled.

Olórin gave her a surprised look. "My friend?" He asked uncertainly.

"Oh, nothing important – I am only imagining Lord Laurefindil's reaction when he hears about it."

That reminded her that she needed to warn Elrond, and she immediately contacted him. He was horrified, naturally, and they discussed the possibilities of helping Khazad-dûm at length. She mentioned her speculation about those who could defeat a balrog, and they both bemoaned that there were not enough left in Middle-Earth.

 _In fact,_ Elrond said, _apart from the wizards, which I am not certain about, there just might be only two left – and you cannot go, and Lord Laurefindil will not. I would never ask it of him, and he knows it. If I did ask it, his duty might oblige him to go, but I will not risk_ _m_ _y most faithful commander and one who has become a friend on a chance of that victory._ _After all, it cost him his life last time._

 _Yes_ _,_ Galadriel agreed. _I did not think you would_ _ask him_ _, as much as it pains me for the sake of Khazad-dûm. But Lord Laurefindil is my friend, too, and I do not wish him to die again._ The she hesitated. _We could, however, both go to confront the creature together,_ she said _. That would be almost entirely safe, and_ _would rid Middle-Earth of this new danger._

She could sense that Elrond's first reaction was alarm, but he did not say anything as he considered the matter. _I suppose_ , he said at length. _Should I suggest it to him?_

 _Allow me to first speak to King Náin. It would require evacuating the kingdom – such a fight would be long and destructive, and the dwarves could not stay there without great loss of life. We will require his blessing_.

As she had feared, that proved to be the crucial weakness in the plan. King Náin was in no state for a reasonable discussion. "Do you want to take my kingdom from me, to use this monster from the depth to make a realm for yourself after the one you have lost? Is that what you want? No, we will not abandon our ancestral home! Khazad-dûm is ours, and it will never be another's! Now begone!"

Galadriel returned to Lindórinand in despair. She did not need to look into the Mirror to understand the premonition she had now. The fall of Hadhodrond was inevitable.

-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-

Amroth returned several months later, and immediately called Galadriel and Celeborn to his flet. "I'll leave for the West," he said simply. "With Nimrodel."

Galadriel frowned. "Are you sure? I know you don't feel the call of the Sea..."

"That's the only way to be with her, and...I can't be without her any longer. And she is so scared of the darkening Middle-Earth, or perhaps better said, so disgusted by it...the balrog was the last straw, and then while I was with her, the news reached me that the Ringwraiths have reappeared in Mordor..."

Galadriel had been aware of that. It was an unpleasant confirmation of what she had suspected since Angmar fell. The Witch-King only gave it up because he had other plans.

"I can leave the realm in your hands," Amroth said, "but Nimrodel has no one else to guide her out of these lands she is beginning to despise."

"It's your decision, of course, but it shouldn't be taken lightly," Celeborn cautioned him.

"You both know I've been considering this for hundreds of years. I've simply finally realized where I'm more indispensable."

"It isn't you giving up your kingship for Nimrodel that we question, it's sailing West," Galadriel clarified. "But if you're sure, then..." She sighed. "I'll miss you, Amroth. When do you mean to depart?"

"As soon as we can. In a few months, perhaps."

"Then we have much work to do."

It was, at least, something that could take Galadriel's mind off the approaching tragedy of Khazad-dûm, the endless meetings with Amroth and with the council, planning the transition of power, dealing with those who wanted to use it to their own benefit or to the benefit of their particular causes, as well as those who tried to convince the king to stay.

"I expect you will rule the realm jointly, of course," Amroth told Galadriel, "but I'd like to leave the crown to Celeborn, if it doesn't offend you too much. I simply feel it should have a Sindarin ruler, and besides...you concern yourself with the fate of the world a lot. I'd like a king after me whose primary concern will be Lindórinand."

Galadriel only smiled and nodded. She would not have accepted the crown had he offered it to her.

Celeborn, however, said: "For the long years you've ruled them, you have some strange ideas about the people of your kingdom. The Silvan don't care whom you name king. It'll always merely be a place in the council to them. To the Noldor, their ruler will always be Galadriel. And to the old Sindar, the only ones who might care...I'm of King Thingol's family. Once you're gone, it'll naturally fall to me, even if you chose differently."

"I still wanted you to know my wish," Amroth insisted.

Celeborn sighed. "You think like a Sinda from Doriath too much and not enough at the same time. You want to leave me the crown. But most people of this realm would prefer to have no crown above them! I understand why you ruled as king. It'd have seemed a dishonour to your father's memory not to. But I'm not bound by such obligation. I'll take the charge of this realm from you, but I won't be king. I'm not your heir by any law, and so I'll simply regard myself as a steward of the realm you left me – or left us, I should say, for you know Galadriel will be ever by my side."

"I do know, and I have no objections against that. As I said, it's only if the question of who the primary ruler is should arise that I'd like it to be known that it's you, if I'm to have any say in it." He hesitated. "As for the other matter...my father found it difficult to rule without a crown."

"As I said, too much and not enough at the same time. Your father didn't have the blood of Thingol to help him with his authority." Celeborn saw Amroth's expression, and added: "It isn't fair, no. But it is what it is, and these are our people, for good and bad both."

"Not mine any more," Amroth replied with a sigh.

"They'll wait for you beyond the Sea as well, though you won't be king there," Galadriel reminded him.

"And thank the One for that," Amroth said.

Celeborn's decision to reject kingship, of course, meant even more council meetings and private conversation with individual important representatives of the realm. But while Galadriel's mind was distracted, fate did not wait, and ere long the balrog struck again in Khazad-dûm, and this time more fatally.

King Náin, too, was killed, and most of his people with him, in a desperate battle where Durin's folk tried to save their ancestral kingdom. It took place inside the mountain, and Galadriel only knew of it when news were brought of the mountains being angry again. She could do nothing but watch, from the edges of her realm, as desperate and injured refugees began to pour out of the gates.

She directed all who were willing to go to the Noldorin dwellings in the mountains, telling them to settle there for now and direct all the others who would escape the realm there, before they could be gathered and it could be decided where they would go. She expected more to resist the idea, but they were lost and had nowhere to go, and almost all followed her advice, and so Galadriel spent days assisting them where she could, gradually joined by more and more Noldor, including Aseanettë's sisters and their apprentices, who treated the injured as soon as they could.

Only when this was over, when no one else was comign out of the gates of Hadhodrond, did Galadriel have time to actually consider what happened, and to grieve properly.

The fate of Khazad-dûm had been decided for a time already, and yet it was still very difficult to believe it was gone, so much more difficult than with Arthedain. Khazad-dûm had been there so long, unchanging, older than any other realm in Middle-Earth, and perhaps even older than the elven kingdoms beyond the Sea, as much as they could be called kingdoms.

It seemed impossible it should end.

 _I should know by now,_ she told herself, _that nothing good ever lasts in this Arda Marred._

Had it not been her who had warned the dwarves exactly of this? Who had told them that their realm being old was no guarantee of it withstanding another age, or the next? And yet she was still shocked by this, even more so, perhaps, than they themselves were.

Their lives were short, and they did not have in living memory what she did. They did not live for almost five millennia by the side of that kingdom. She had seen so many kings rule there, some good, some bad, some wise, some foolish, year after year, century after century, always invariably there as she moved from one realm to another, and as kingdoms of elves and Men fell around them.

And now it was gone, forever.

She thought of its beautiful carved halls, of the majesty in its strange austerity, of the architecture that was unlike any she had seen made by elven or human craftsmen. She thought of the many beautiful jewels she had made by the dwarves of Khazad-dûm over the years, of the art that poured from there. She thought of the mithril armour, too, that would no longer be available, and that they would sorely miss when the war came.

And she thought of Durin's folk, turned out of their ancestral home by this evil power. _At least we made the choice to abandon Aman, as much as evil played a part in it_ , she thought. But for them to be driven out in such a way...and where were they to go now? Indeed, the three clans of dwarves that were the best of them seemed to have the bitterest fate. Those in the red mountains lived there happily still, while those who fought against Sauron and against the Enemy before him were driven our of their homes. For the second time, in case of two of the clans.

Arda Marred was a bitter place to live indeed, and so she attested to it with her own tears. Avorneth found her by the fountain, then, and joined her. She was the only one in the entire Lindórinand who knew Khazad-dûm, too, and had some love for it, and they grieved the kingdom together as Ardamírë travelled across the sky.

The next day, Amroth announced he would be leaving immediately.

"You have to at least wait until we assemble a proper escort for you," Celeborn pointed out.

"I can have no escort. Nimrodel detests any kind of violence, how'd she take it if we went accompanied by soldiers?"

"You need the protection," Celeborn insisted. "Middle-Earth isn't safe and peaceful any more."

"I'm aware of that – that's why we're leaving – but it isn't as bad as that yet. We can manage."

"At least allow me to call Elladan and Elrohir here, and let them accompany you!"

He winced. "I...would like to give my farewells to them. I'll talk about it with Nimrodel, and hopefully we can wait for them. Call them if you will, though I don't think I can take them with me to the Sea – they're warriors, and Nimrodel wouldn't accept them as escort."

"But perhaps they'll convince _you_ of the folly of wishing to go alone," Galadriel commented. "I'd like to write some letters as well, to my loved ones beyond the sea, if you're willing to carry them? It's been some time since I last had an opportunity to send them something, although I suppose that with the shadow rising again, the frequency will increase."

"By all means, write as much as you will, I'll carry it for you."

So Galadriel wrote her letters – to her parents and brothers and to Findekáno and Nolofinwë, and to Itarillë and Elwing and even, with hope, to Artanáro and Sarnel. She did not know how many of those who died walked in Arda again, but the letters could always be given to them later, once they were allowed to leave the Halls of Waiting.

And then the time of parting came, and Galadriel embraced Amroth – for the first time since he was a child in Doriath – and fared him well on his journey. His goodbyes to Celeborn took longer, and the older elf cried as he bade goodbye to the last member of his family from Doriath. The sons of Elrond cried as well, at the loss of a friend. "We'll see each other again," Amroth told them, moved by their tears, and Galadriel saw them exchange a look, for they did not know that for sure: the Choice was still before them.

A great procession accompanied the king close to the borders of the forest, where he bade them to stop, for he did not wish to put Nimrodel off with his retinue. She only had one friend to accompany her, and so he chose similarly, one Sindarin lord who wished to travel beyond the Sea as well. He was not a warrior, and so would hopefully be acceptable to Nimrodel. He now stepped to Amroth's side, and then, after the last brief goodbyes, the people of Lindórinand began to sing, in memory of their king who loved a song, as he departed, never to be seen in his kingdom again.

They returned to the capital slow and sad, and Celeborn and Galadriel both looked upon the royal flet. "I understand Elrond now," Celeborn said, "why he didn't wish to rule in Lindon after Rodnor. I'd feel like an impostor if I moved in there."

"Yet you accepted the role," Galadriel reminded him.

"I accepted to care for this realm, aye. But I don't need to live here. Even Amroth did not move into his father's house, keeping to his own flet even after he became king. I will leave this place empty in their memory."

Galadriel sighed. "I understand the intention," she said, "but I fear a little that you could go too far in these things. Not being king, keeping the royal house empty in the centre of the capital as an always-present reminder that you are not the true ruler of the land...Amroth had a point, it could turn out badly for you."

He considered the problem for a time. "We could...move the capital, I suppose. That way I could leave this place to Amdír's and Amroth's memory without having it be a living reminder of their kingship in the middle of what would be supposedly my city."

The idea surprised Galadriel. "That is a serious thing to propose. Are you certain it would be accepted?"

He shrugged. "We can suggest it to the council, at least."

She smiled and took his hand in hers. "That we can."


	86. Escape

**Chapter 86: Escape**

 _Year 2063 of the Third Age, Lothlórien_

It was strange for Galadriel, being the ruler – or one of the rulers – of a realm again.

It was particularly strange in the circumstances that surrounded her coming into this responsibility.

A few years after Amroth's departure, Nimrodel's friend Mithrellas had returned to Lindórinand, and brought the most dreadful news: Nimrodel had been lost on the way to the sea and that Amroth drowned in his despair. It plunged the realm into half a century of mourning. The place of the old capital had been renamed Cerin Amroth in his honour, and when the period of mourning ended, Galadriel did her utmost to help heal her people, pouring her power – and the ring's power - into the realm in such a way that she made it in likeness of the healing gardens of Lord Irmo. It was Olórin who first named it Lothlórien, Lórien of the Blossom, for the likeness was such that some memories stirred in him, and the name was gradually accepted as another way of honouring Amroth. It was him who ruled the Vale of the Land of Singers; Celeborn and Galadriel would simply protect his people and help to heal their wound, and what better place for that than Lórien?

So Cerin Amroth was a place of memory now, deserted and surrounded by mellyrn. It would have scarcely been possible to have any place deserted in the forest before, so full of elves it was, but many Sindar had sailed after the king's death. The new capital, Caras Galadhon, had just as much Silvan and Noldor in it as it had Sindar.

It was built in the place of Galadriel's fountain. It caused her some regret, but she had to admit it was the wisest solution. As a ruler now, she could not afford to be away from the capital so often, and it would be useful to have the Mirror close at hand. It made the transition easier, too – the fountain was a place of beauty, and it gave people reason to be willing to move.

The Silvan settled near the top of the hill, in the crowns of the oldest mellyrn, where there was space left still unoccupied by Noldor. It was done out of respect for her, Galadriel knew – if they lived in the treetops, that still mostly left the ground, with the fountain and the Mirror, to her private use.

It had been a foolish hope, though. The capital was the capital, and the Sindar and Noldor who lived lower at the hill were often unwilling to adapt to the Silvan way of life – especially the Noldor found the treetops difficult to accept – and so they walked the ground. Galadriel built a small hidden shelter for her Mirror visions and privacy, and tried to derive pleasure from knowing that at least so many of her people now dwelt in the place that was best protected.

There were other changes in the realm, too. Two Sindar from the council sailed, Ornor one of them, and they needed to be replaced. Galadriel knew exactly whom she wished to take their place, but there was a problem: neither of them was a Sinda.

"If you had anyone you would truly recommend, anyone truly good, to take the place," she told Celeborn, "I would accept without hesitation, but I don't wish to have inept people on the council only because they are Sindar. We had enough of that with Ornor."

"Would you rather make the Sindar feel like strangers in their own land?" Celeborn asked. "I have enough capable people. It's only that they're not as capable as those you'd name."

"I dislike the idea we'd rob our council of the help of one of those who are very capable of making it more productive, because of this."

Celeborn sighed. "Amdír had a bigger council, towards the end, than Amroth had," he said. "We can add one more member to ours, too. Then you can appoint whom you wish, and the numbers of Noldor, Sindar and Silvan there would be equal."

After some hesitation – bigger council usually meant a less efficient one – Galadriel accepted, and went to speak to her chosen candidates.

Feliel was very surprised by the offer. "But...I do not live in the capital," she protested.

"No," Galadriel agreed, "but I believe it might be time you did. Many Noldor had moved there already, and the world is getting more dangerous by the day."

"Is it? I mean, Angmar was ended, and Scatha the Dragon was killed..."

"Angmar was ended only for the Witch-king to take residence in Mordor instead, and though that is a little further from us, he will be more dangerous there. The shadow in Mirkwood is growing stronger by the day, and that is all too near. Scatha was killed, yes, but not before ravaging the dwarven kingdoms in the Red Mountains, and there are other dragons left still. Durin's Folk in their new kingdom of Erebor fear their attack every day. Some sit on the gold from the Red Mountains now, but who knows where the others might turn?"

"You do not paint the future too bright, my lady."

Galadriel sighed. "No. I feel it will not be very bright at all."

"Should all the people move within the protective borders, then?" Feliel worried.

"I will not give the order, but I strongly recommend it," Galadriel replied. "I cannot vouch for their safety here. But then, I already told you this a long time ago."

Feliel nodded. "I will have to consult this with Banja," she said then, "but I doubt she would regret being closer to her parents and back in a forest. As for myself, I would gladly accept your offer, my lady."

That matter settled, Galadriel set out to speak to the other person she wished to have on the council.

If Feliel had been surprised, Birik was deeply astonished.

"But my lady..." he said. "You know that I'm of common origin, and an Avar to boot."

"I'm aware indeed," she replied archly. "I hope you don't suggest Ealc is of noble birth – she'd certainly be offended by that."

"No, but that's different. She was elected by the Silvan into the position. You wish to choose me. Won't your lords protest?"

Galadriel was amused by the idea. "There are so little Noldorin lords and ladies left," she said, "I almost exhausted the supply by having Feliel and Avorneth in the council. There is only one or two more left in this realm."

"Truly? I never realized."

Galadriel shrugged. "It ceased to matter a long time ago, at least the way it mattered in the First Age. There's too few of us now."

"The Noldorin lords won't protest, then – but what of the Sindar?"

"You might offend some of their sensibilities," Galadriel admitted, "but there are few enough left of the old ones nowadays who would truly matter. And even those still prefer you to a Noldo, so they won't be too loud. Are these your only objections?"

"There is also that I'm not certain I'm qualified. I don't have your kind of learning-"

"Of the entire council, only Celeborn, Avorneth and Feliel do."

"-and I'm not as knowledgeable about politics as my daughter is. Why did you not choose her?"

Galadriel sighed. "I have the greatest respect for Tugu's opinions," she said, "but we'd never have any compromise in the council if she was present. I hope you'll consult her frequently, but I don't wish to have her sit in directly." She sighed again. "In truth, I'd prefer to have both you and Hana together in the council, but that might truly be too much for some of my lords, as you said. So in a way, you're to represent your entire family there."

"Then I'll consult with the entire family before I decide," he replied.

-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-

Birik took his time in making up his mind, but in due course accepted the position, thus completing Celeborn!s council. It was just in time, too, because Galadriel now had another, new thing to worry about.

Olórin was about to venture into Mirkwood.

She was nervous in a way she had not been for some time.

He seemed amused by that.

"Do you not trust me, my friend?" He asked.

"I would naturally trust you fully if it was not for this ridiculous-" She stopped herself and slowly exhaled. "I do not have too clear an idea of how much of your power remains in this form. I wish I could go instead."

"You know that is politically impossible. Thranduil will be upset enough with me as it is, but at least I cannot start an international incident."

"He has no right to be upset, he lost control over that part of the forest years ago!" She sighed. "But of course you are well aware of that. Forgive me. I just- be careful, my friend. I will stay with you in mind."

He inclined his head and caught her in a short embrace before he departed, making Galadriel shake herself a little. The embraces were the hardest thing to get used to, for it was one thing she knew Lord Olórin, as friendly as he was, would never have done in Aman, perhaps because he never seemed quite comfortable in his bodily form. It was rather ironic that he should be the one to come as a wizard, truly.

She watched his progress across the river and through the fields, and his entrance into the darkness of Mirkwood. She watched him drive off countless dark creatures with his light, and her nervousness abated, for even though he did not have all of his power, he clearly had enough.

That showed once more when he confronted the shadow that dwelt there, for it fled from him even before he could fully face it.

Galadriel sensed Olórin's frustration, and it was mirrored by her own. They barely caught a glimpse of the Necromancer, whoever it was. Olórin, being there in person, would naturally know more, but she for herself was unable to identify the danger with any kind of finality. As an argument for Thranduil, it would be useless.

 _Is he gone?_ She asked, dismayed.

 _Yes_ , Olórin confirmed, going through the ruins of the old capital of Greenwood systematically and driving out the lesser dark creatures present, chiefly orcs and spiders. _No trace of him here_. _I could try tracking him, but...he will be well hidden. Especially if it was truly his power that hid the Witch-king's armies before the fall of Arthedain._

Galadriel had to agree. _He could be anywhere. Having no bodily form, he can move much quicker than we can, and...you could spend centuries looking. As much as it upsets me, it is better to wait until he manifests again somewhere. I should have known he would flee._

Olórin sighed. _There was no reason to believe so –_ _he was well settled there, and he could have tried to fight me. We_ _both_ _know it would not have been an immediate victory for me, though it would have ended that way eventually. There was good chance he would stay long enough for me to get a proper look at least._

Galadriel, however, had to disagree. _I fully believe it is Sauron,_ she said, _and I know Sauron is master of strategic retreat. Did he not allow Númenórë to capture him at the end of last age when he realized where he stood? The Witch-king, too, must have learned this from him, and that is why Angmar lasted so long against us. I recognize this strategy. It is familiar to me. I am now more certain than ever it is Sauron, but what use is that, if we have no proof?_

Olórin had no answer to that. He went north to notify Thranduil of what happened in a disconcerted frame of mind, and Galadriel left him be for a time.

She contacted him again only to witness the frustrating argument with the Greenwood King. Seeing with her own eyes that marriage, instead of helping him, seemed to have made Thranduil only more unreasonable, was upsetting. After watching for a time, she began to find it rather amusing, in that dark way tinged with despair, to whisper insults fitting for the situation into Olórin's mind. He even used some of them.

 _Do you_ _habitually_ _unfavourably compare people to Fëanáro?_ He asked as he was heading back.

 _Yes, in fact. Those I dislike the most. I said the exact same thing to Singollo and to Túrin – so, thinking about it, it is probably a good thing you did not use that one. Thranduil might have recognized it._

 _You said that to Singollo in front of full court?_ Olórin asked in amused horror.

 _No, I actually sent it to him as a message when he attempted to capture me, but I would be very surprised if the word did not get round. And if Oropher knew about it, which he very likely did, he would have used it in his campaign against me, so Thranduil would know as well._

Olórin was even more amused by this. _Old sins cast long shadows_ , he said.

 _Are you heading to Rivendell now?_ Galadriel asked after a moment, catching the destination in his mind.

 _Yes. I need to inform Elrond of our discovery._

 _You know perfectly well you could simply speak to him the way you are speaking to me right now,_ she pointed out archly.

 _True enough,_ he agreed _, but it is on my way to where I am headed next, and I enjoy being in Rivendell._

 _Is not Lothlórien of equal attraction?_ She asked, teasing. He had just been in her realm, she understood why he would go to Elrond now.

To her surprise, however, she sensed his mind turning more serious in response, and asked: _What is it, my friend?_

 _Lothlórien still mourns its king_ , he replied.

Galadriel sighed. It was very true. The fifty years of mourning might have been over, but the greif would never pass fully, and certainly not this soon. _Yes, Rivendell is more joyful nowadays_ , she admitted, and even as she said it, a very unpleasant shiver of premonition ran through her.

 _Galadriel? What is it?_

 _It will not last_ , she replied. _I will have to consult my mirror, but that much I understood from the vague glimpses I have now. A tragedy will strike Rivendell as well._

He hesitated. _Are you certain you wish to look?_ He asked then.

 _Why?_ She asked sharply _. Have you seen something?_

 _No, but...some of your dearest still in Middle-Earth dwell in Rivendell. It may be that it will concern one of them. Are you sure you wish to know?_

 _It is almost certain it will concern one of my loved ones,_ she corrected him _, for all of those who have the power to fling the entire valley into grief are those that I love. I would not have searched that knowledge, but now that I had the premonition...I have to look._

She hurried to the small sheltered place she had created for her mirror sightings, and taking a fortifying breath, she poured out the water, breathed at it and looked.

What she saw pierced her heart, for there was Celebrían departing for the West in grief.

 _But why?_ She asked the mirror. _Why?_

It stayed silent.

She sunk to the ground next to it, horrified. Her daughter departing West meant she would not see her again for thousands of years, likely, until she faded and then was released from Mandos. She had known such a moment would come, of course, after the war was won and all the elves departed, but she had hoped that until then, Celebrían would stay with her. And others might depart with her as well – probably not Elrond, he knew his task was here, but what if Arwen or the twins decided to go? Or – and that thought was too horrifying to bear – Celeborn?

And Elrond, too, would be heartbroken if his wife left without him and he was alone on this shore, especially should the children leave as well. And she simply could not tell if they would. Elladan and Elrohir loved Middle-Earth very dearly and felt not a shadow of the call, but their love for their mother was so great, and they were so close to her, that she could imagine them following her nonetheless.

Arwen would probably stay with her father, Galadriel judged – and hoped, for if all of the children left him, he could well fade.

Celeborn found her there, lost in these despairing thoughts, for he sensed her distress.

"What is it, my love?" He asked.

She shielded the upsetting thoughts and asked: "It's not...pleasant. Are you certain you wish to know?"

"Of course I wish to know. It's my task to help carry your burdens."

Galadriel gave a deep sigh, embraced him and showed him.

He was shaking like a leaf once he saw, and he stared into the distance for a long time.

"Elrond'll go with her," he said at length.

"My love...I don't think he can. He has a task here."

"Oh, I know he does, but this age can't have that much left in it. Once Sauron is defeated again, he'll follow her West."

"Yes, he will," Galadriel confirmed, unsure where this was headed.

"So I can stay here with you," he finished.

She embraced him more tightly. "Oh, my love," she said, "I wouldn't keep you from your daughter. It's for my pride that I'm doomed to remain here, you don't have to..."

"I swore to stand by you, and I will. You know my opinion on the Valar, one that was certainly not improved by that judgement over you. I won't leave you alone."

Galadriel clung to him, relief mixing with guilt. It took a moment for the emotions to abate.

"You must have known she'd sail one day even before this vision," she pointed out then, as if this knowledge had calmed _her_ any. "If only because of Elrond."

"I'd rather hoped that he might stay, for you, and so she would stay as well."

"He offered it," Galadriel admitted, "but I tried to talk him out of it. His wife and his children are his first responsibility, and if they wished to sail..."

"As we now know they will, or at least Celebrían will."

Galadriel cast her mind back to everything the mirror had ever shown her regarding her daughter, and frowned. "There's still the matter of the coronation I saw on their wedding day," she said. "I'm quite certain none of the kings of Gondor of the past were the one I saw, and there are no kings now." The stupidity of a king without a heir riding out to single combat with the Witch-king was something quite beyond her comprehension, but it was done, and Gondor was ruled by stewards now, much like Lothlórien.

"So do you think…?"

Galadriel had a theory, or perhaps a fear would be a better term, but she was reluctant to share it even with Celeborn. She had not actually Seen it, and it might only be her worry and apprehension speaking. "I think it means there'll be a king again once the shadow is defeated," she said, "but I still don't actually know what it has to do with Elrond and Celebrían."

"They could foster the future king, I suppose – I mean, they do raise the heirs to the northern line these days, do they not?"

"That is what I thought at first," she replied. "Then I saw the vision again when Celebrían was pregnant with Arwen...and besides, if Celebrían sails…? If Elrond raises the heir himself, there would be no reason for the visions to appear on the day of their wedding."

"Perhaps her sailing will have something to do with the heir…? Perhaps Arwen will raise him with Elrond, instead of Celebrían?" He shook his head. "I give up. Seeing the future is your skill, not mine. Come, we'll retreat to our flet and enjoy the night together, to think of pleasanter things."

Galadriel smiled at him and rose. "I'll be very glad to," she said.

-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-

Celeborn distracted her and eased her mind to a degree, but Galadriel could not help but worry about Rivendell. She had that fear that Arwen would marry a Man, and now she had the vision of Celebrían sailing...was it perhaps connected? Would Celebrían decide to sail after the death of her daughter, that true, permanent death of Men?

It was possible, Galadriel had to admit. She remembered how worried she had been about Elrond after Elros died. Yes, it was just possible that her daughter – who, because of her own selfishness, did not have as much strength as she could have had – would not be able to bear that burden.

But did that mean that Elrond would remain behind, after the death of his daughter and the sailing of his wife? Surely not? Surely that would be too much, to pile this on top of all his other losses...yet what other possible reading was there of the situation? She could not imagine him sailing before the battles of this age were done, at least. Not until Sauron was banished, as he should have been in the War. She could not imagine him leaving Middle-Earth. And yet...what if he faded?

What would she do here, without him and without the possibility to fade as well, if the war was still unfinished? Would she even be able to handle those losses?

She knew that this was the danger of foresight, that one occupied oneself too much with possibilities. Usually, she guarded herself against that, but it was difficult when the matter concerned her own children.

She did not wish to tell either Elrond or Celeborn of her worries, and yet if the fate was soon to pass...after some consideration, she searched out Avorneth.

She found her in the company of Ealc, the latter singing and the former listening to her exceptionally good voice. "Aunt," Avorneth said as she entered, while Ealc continued singing, undisturbed. "What can we do for you?"

"I don't need help, exactly," Galadriel replied. "I come with a...warning? Recommendation? Something in between."

"Yes?"

"I've had a vision in the Mirror...it seems that at some point in the future, but before the shadow is defeated, Celebrían will sail West."

Avorneth stared. "But...why?"

"I don't know. I have theories, but they're not happy ones and I'll not burden you with them. They're only theories."

Ealc scoffed. "You sound like Avorneth when she talks about craft. 'Only theories.' She's right every time, and so are you."

"I won't dispute Avorneth's proficiency, but as for me, I sincerely hope I won't be this time."

Seeing that she would, in truth, not tell them, Avorneth asked: "Why did you come to tell me?"

Before Galadriel could reply, Ealc noted: "She wants you to go to Rivendell."

"Not want, exactly," Galadriel corrected. "I merely thought that if she's to sail soon, you'd like to spend as much time with her as possible."

Avorneth frowned. "She'll read the purpose of it in my mind."

"Don't you know how to hide what you don't want her to see?"

"I do...but I've never used it with Celebrían before. Never had to."

Galadriel felt a pang at that, even as Ealc scoffed again. "And you won't believe me," she said, "when I say your habit of looking at each other's thoughts is destructive."

Avorneth shook her head. "I recognize the dangers," she said. "I simply believe it's worth it." She turned back to Galadriel. "I'll go, for a time at least. Elladan and Elrohir are in Gondor again, aren't they?"

"I believe so, yes."

"Then I'll wait for them to pass through, and return with them to Rivendell for a time at least. Thank you for telling me."

Galadriel gave her a careful look. "Do you?"

"Yes. It might complicate some things, but I prefer having the opportunity to being filled with regret that I didn't have enough time once Celebrían sails."

Galadriel nodded and turned to leave, to give the wives some privacy.

"One more thing," Avorneth stopped her.

"Yes?"

"I've been studying the notes about rings that Curunír made as you suggested, to pool our knowledge from our separate fields of research." She frowned. "There's something strange about them."

"Strange? Strange how?"

"I know the wizards don't remember their pasts, but by his proficiency in all that relates to craft, it's generally assumed that he was close to Aulë."

"Yes, it is," Galadriel confirmed.

"There are mistakes in the research he gave me, mistakes that an ordinary layman might well make, but which are astonishing in one of Aulë's folk."

"We don't know how much he remembers," Galadriel reminded her.

Avorneth shook her head. "That's not quite what I meant. He clearly learned again, when he came to Middle-Earth. The mistakes would betray someone with a natural ineptitude for the subject. In him, I don't know what to make of them."

Galadriel considered. Normally, she would have simply thought that he was not of Aulë's people and let it be, but there was a number of other things that worried her about this wizard.

Chiefly, it was his complete resistance to the idea of intervening against the Necromancer. Olórin had to go there against Curunír's express wishes. That was curious indeed, and especially when he was not able to give any good reasons for this. Pushing the Necromancer out and away seemed like the only reasonable course of action to Galadriel. Elrond and Lord Ciryatan both agreed, and so did, naturally, Olórin.

Yes Curunír still insisted that nothing needed to be done, that it was best left alone. He might, naturally, have some reason she could not think of – he was both wise and powerful – but if so, he never revealed it to anyone. That worried Galadriel. Surely at least she, or Olórin, could have been trusted with it.

"Thank you for letting me know," she said, to Avorneth. "I'll think about what to do with the situation. I'll leave you ladies alone now."


	87. Voice

**Chapter 87: Voice**

 _Year 2230 of the Third Age, Lothlórien_

This was, Galadriel mused, a surprisingly good time for Middle-Earth, considering her fears and worries about the future.

Not too long ago, the last remaining dragons were killed or driven back to Withered Heath by a campaign of the Easterlings. That was doubly pleasing. For one, the danger of the dragons was much lessened. For another, it made it possible for Durin's Folk to unite in the Grey Mountains. It was a pity, perhaps, that the Lonely Mountain was abandoned for that, but Galadriel could not but see it as joyful that those who had lived together in Hadhodrond for long years were together once again. The Nogrod and Belegost lines had their heads no longer, both having lost all heirs to the line in Khazad-dûm, and so it seemed all-important they should keep together with King Thorin.

And secondly, it was also good that this campaign by the Easterlings seemed to indicate they were not joined with Mordor this time. Perhaps the blue wizards have done their part indeed, because it was impossible that Mordor would urge them to kill those who could be of so much use to it. No, the one who ruled Angmar for so long was too clever a general for that.

Even her realm was more peaceful now. They still remembered Amroth and were saddened by his death, but they healed as much as anyone on this shore could heal – and perhaps even a little more, thanks to her power, the ring of water and the mellyrn – and there was joyful song to be heard again.

Even personally, Galadriel was doing well, if she disregarded the constant guilt and longing for those she had lost over the years. With the Necromancer gone, at least temporarily, travel to Lothlórien was safe again, and Celebrían and Arwen could come relatively freely with only a small escort when the fancy took them. They both frequently made use of the opportunity.

Galadriel took great joy in that. She was happy to see both of them, and she was especially extatic to see her daughter in a better frame of mind. It was the first time in centuries that they could spend time together in pleasant conversation without it descending into some sort of argument sooner or later, and Galadriel had not realized how she missed it when it was gone. She still did not see eye to eye with her daughter in almost anything, but there was familial comfort in that difference of opinion when it was explored without malice.

And even apart from all her personal pleasure, there was another reason why she welcomed it. As it turned out, being the lady of what was nominally a Sindarin realm carried some responsibilities she had not know in Doriath, as a wife to a prince distant enough from kingship, or in Hollin, where Sindarin customs did not hold sway. There were things expected of her, and Celeborn explained that the old Sindar would take offense if she did not follow the custom.

Of course, there were so few of those who actually remembered Doriath left that, politically, they could easily be ignored, but Galadriel considered it a matter of respect to try and accommodate them. There were many things about the Sindarin customs she disliked and actively worked to dismantle, so the least she could do was honour what she could.

On the other hand, the customs also developed with a queen who had only these responsibilities in mind, and not the safety of Middle-Earth. So Galadriel did her best to combine them with things that she found useful, or that she was herself strong in.

Celebrían was invaluable in this.

Having spent millennia as the consort of the ruler of a realm, and being more Sindarin-inclined, she knew better how to navigate such a situation than Galadriel did. She was present at the first meetings of noble ladies Galadriel organized, talked over how to combine Galadriel's busy schedule with the personal visits to the injured and ailing that were expected, and made suggestions about the maiden.

Maiden. It was the most complicated of problems Galadriel faced.

She knew all about tending the injured, and meeting with noble ladies was not that very different from the everyday demands of Noldorin noble life. But maidens...the last time she had them had been in Aman, and there, they were shy, soft-spoken girls chosen by her mother, Galadriel suspected, for being as different from her in character as possible. She had hardly spent any time with them at all when she could avoid it.

Clearly, a different strategy was needed here.

Since she was to have handmaidens, Galadriel opted to give this opportunity to all peoples of her realm. With the Sindar, it was simple enough: she took the unmarried ladies from every noble family that remained. There were not many. Among the Noldor, she consulted Feliel and Aseanettë and chose the ones with the most potential from among the whole of her people. It did not matter in what, if one of the ladies believed the girl in question had the chance to greatness in some way or other, the offer of being counted among Galadriel's maidens was made to them.

The Silvan, naturally, were the most complicated. Ealc did not seem to be able to comprehend what was the actual purpose of the institution, and in the end, Galadriel simply said that it was a club for young nisi to learn from each other and improve their skills. Ealc still seemed confused why it was not for neri as well, and why the nisi had to be unmarried, but she did spread the information among her wide acquaintance, and some did show interest.

In the end, there was a group of about twenty young nisi gathered in the royal flet. Each of them had skills and talents the others lacked, and looking them over, Galadriel found that she was glad she had followed this tradition after all. Yes, it would be difficult to make space for it in her busy schedule, but this could become a place for the ladies of her realm to inspire and teach each other and for some more of the remaining barriers between Sindar, Noldor and Silvan to break down.

For Galadriel, it became a welcome repose, a quiet respite from her more demanding political work.

Whenever Arwen came to Lothlórien, she much enjoyed spending time with these ladies, and adding her vast learning and skill to the non-negligible mix that was already there.

"Teaching them makes me feel useful," she told Galadriel, and the older lady could only sigh, and desperately hope and wish.

But still, even in the midst of these pleasant duties, she did not entirely relax.

She remembered her uncle, how he grew too confident in times of peace, and then they all paid dearly for it when war came. Even if they could not attack Sauron at the moment, for they did not know where he was, they could still do something.

And Galadriel was growing more and more worried about Curunír. His reluctance to do anything about the shadow in Mirkwood had been disquieting, and to make matters worse, she noticed he had been using his powerful, enchanting voice to make his arguments seem stronger. That alone was so reminiscent of Fëanáro – different though they were in many other things – that it would have been enough to lead Galadriel to take steps, steps she could afford now that they were in peace for a time.

She did not know Curunír from Aman, she was certain of that, but she shared the general assumption that he had been one of Aule's Maiar. Lord Laurefindil, as one of Turukáno's close associates, had the best chance of identifying him in that case, but he tried his best and could not help her. Galadriel asked the others who still remembered Aman, then, but none recognized him – those who were most devoted to craft, and so would have been most likely to, died in Hollin.

It made her nervous. In spite of repeatedly telling herself this was not another Annatár, she was not wholly convinced, and the need to identify him grew larger and larger in her mind, to almost obsessive proportions. She felt she could not make another step on this journey without knowing who exactly he was and had been.

The knowledge of what she needed to do was steadily growing in the back of her mind.

She detested keeping things from Celeborn, and the only thing she did until now was her experiences during pregnancy, and lately her fear about Arwen, but she knew perfectly well that what she was doing now had to be kept to herself.

She made certain she was alone and walked to Cerin Amroth, where she stood in the circle of the trees on the top, closed her eyes and sent her mind out searching in a way she had not done for thousands of years, and rarely enough even before then.

She found him.

He was far, in distant lands where hardly any elves dwelt, but she found him and she called to him. "Come, please!" She said. "I need you."

Then she waited.

Months later, she sensed him approaching, and walked to the northern border of the forest to intercept him. She could not see him when he came, but she could sense him, and so said: "I know you are here. Show yourself."

And he did.

One look at him, at his gaunt features and the eyes full of despair and loneliness, and she let go of caution and ran to embrace him.

He was clearly taken aback, and it took him a moment to return the embrace. "Cousin," Galadriel said, almost weeping. "Forgive me, I should have done this a long time ago."

"No, you should not have," he corrected her in a voice that tried to sound hard and did not quite succeed. "You should not have done it now, even, and I should not have come."

She let him go to look into his eyes. "How long have you been alone?"

"Too long to count," he admitted.

"That is why I should have done this a long time ago."

"You can hardly afford such a risk to your realm, can you?" He said bitterly.

"Well, I am not bringing you to live in the capital," she pointed out archly. "Not that I believe you are any kind of serious danger at this point," she added, "but the people would certainly be upset."

"So would I," he muttered. "I could not live among elves any more."

"Do you miss no one?" Galadriel asked him.

"I miss many, but of those who are still in Middle-Earth...you, perhaps. And..." he hesitated. "Had it been possible, I would have liked to see Elrond."

She smiled. "I suppose you know he is a ruler of his own realm now, even though it is only a small one?"

"Yes. I do keep up with some news." He smiled as well, very little. "Lord Elrond – it does seem almost incredible, when I remember the intimidated little boys."

"He married my daughter."

"Truly? That I did not know." Now he seemed amused. "If she is like you, he must be quite under her thumb."

A flash of pain ran across Galadriel's face at this, and he noticed and gave her a questioning look. She shook her head. "It is too personal to talk about," she said simply. "But Elrond has three children now, two sons that look like him and a daughter that wears the face of Lúthien, although of course you never knew her. Do you wish to see?"

He nodded, trying to mask his eagerness, and Galadriel showed him memories of Elrond and her grandchildren in her mind. When he withdrew, she said: "If you kept up with the news, I suppose you know what happened to Elros?"

"Yes," he answered, pain colouring his voice. "I almost jumped on a ship and sailed to Númenórë after I first heard, but...my fear kept me away."

"I am not sure what would have happened if you had done so. Just as I am not certain how Elrond would react."

"I have no intention of testing it. I would not have come to you either, had you not called me. Why did you do so?" He asked, giving her a hard, almost accusing look.

Galadriel sat down on the ground at the edge of the forest and began to explain her fears about Curunír. It was long and involved, and it did not take long for her cousin to sit down beside her. "The Wizards are all Maiar," she finished, "but I do not know which one he is. Craft is his main passion, though, so I expect he would be one of Aulë's. I hoped you could know."

He tilted his head to the side. "Will you show me the memories?"

Galadriel sighed. "I can, but I do not believe it will be enough. Their Maiar identity is hidden deep inside them, and my memories will not be able to convey it."

She was right. "So what do you want from me, then?" He asked.

"I want you to go to Minas Tirith personally and look into his eyes," she replied simply.

"I cannot do that!" He protested immediately.

"Yes, you can," she corrected. "The Wizards lost their memory of the time in Aman, so he will not recognize you. He will know you from stories, but only vaguely, for he never studied with me or Elrond, and preferred to learn about Middle-Earth from the Men of Gondor. Unless you do something terribly obvious, he will not know who you are. Beware of his voice, though, he can enchant very easily. He is like..."

She bit her lip, but he finished her sentence for her: "He is like my father. I see. Well, perhaps that will make it easier for me to resist." Then he hesitated. "When you said voice...did you mean that literally, or is it like with my father, his will, merely expressed by the voice?"

Galadriel frowned, considering. "More literally, I believe, though I do not fully understand what he does. Why?"

He was looking off into the distance. "I...might know who he is. Especially if he named himself Curunír."

"Who?"

He shook his head. "I will tell you after I have confirmation."

"You will do it, then? You will go to Minas Tirith?" She asked perhaps a little too eagerly.

"I came, did I not?" He asked, getting up from the ground as she followed suit. "I would seem a little foolish to refuse you now. Besides...some very small part of me naively hopes that I can still atone somehow. Surely this would be a step towards it?"

"I believe so."

"Then fare me well, cousin," he said, embraced her and left.

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As the next step in her attempt to find out what it was that felt wrong about Curunír, Galadriel went to see Avorneth next time she returned to Lothlórien from Rivendell.

"Could you tell something particular from the kind of mistakes Curunír made in the notes he sent you?" She asked her as they sat together over wine in the royal flet.

"Well...he concentrates on practical application, as you know, while I study the theory. So one would expect that if he was likely to make any mistakes at all, they would be of the theoretical nature."

"But they are not?" Galadriel surmised.

"No. This is why I spoke of ineptitude." Avorneth swirled the wine in her glass as she thought about how to describe it. "Some of the experiments he describes are simply designed wrong, so that no results could have been produced, and in some cases he gives such results that would mean he did something wrong, because I have seen the same done many times, and with entirely different results."

"Is it on one topic that the mistakes abound?" Galadriel enquired further.

"Not at all. Or rather, the entire research he sent me in on the rings of power, so they are in that field, but otherwise, they are scattered across his work." Avorneth scowled. "There is hardly one experiment that is done well, in fact, though some mistakes are small enough."

"And the theory is all sound?" Galadriel prodded.

"Yes." Avorneth scowled. "It is mystifying – if he was stronger in theory than in practice, why did he agree to take on that part of the research?"

Galadriel shook her head. "He is not bad in practical application," she said. "Not at all. Elladan and Elrohir have told me enough stories about what of his work they saw in Gondor. It is a pity they are not here now, they could give you details...but Tugu is, and she knows something about it too, I believe."

Tugu was not in the habit of opening her mind to anyone but her father and sister, and so Galadriel had to send for her in person.

"It is a good thing Ealc is not home," Avorneth mused as they waited.

"Why?"

"She does not like Tugu much."

That surprised Galadriel. "I would have thought they would have a lot in common."

Avorneth chuckled. "Perhaps that is the reason why! They are neither of them a mistress of holding their tongue out of politeness, and when their opinions clash – which is often – it soon escalates into an argument."

This was all news to Galadriel. "Where do they even see each other?" She wondered. "Tugu is not on the council, precisely because I knew that while her opinions are often valuable, the ability to get on with others peacefully is not one of her strengths..."

Avorneth shrugged. "Well, Birik is, and he tells his daughter about the sessions in detail. Every time she disagrees with something Ealc promotes, she comes to have a word with her."

Galadriel laughed. "Does she do this with all the councillors?"

"I believe so. Only the others are either less often in disagreement with her, or less conflict-prone than Ealc. Or both."

Tugu arrived at that moment, and greeted Avorneth with a nod and Galadriel with a bow. "That's because I move among the underprivileged of this realm, and your wife wouldn't know what compassion was even if shown by your Great Lady Nienna herself," she said then without missing a beat.

Avorneth only laughed in response, and Galadriel commented: "I see you've been studying Quenya."

"Yes – some books I long to read are written in it. I still can't speak it worth anything, but understanding is another matter. And when you're badmouthing me, I have the best motivation to try!"

"I thought you were a great fan of frankness?" Avorneth asked archly.

"I wasn't complaining. I was simply calling spade a spade. But I'm sure you didn't ask me here to tell me off for my treatment of Ealc?"

"No, though I do hope you don't go too much overboard," Galadriel added, trying to get some reasurance. Tugu's expression indicated that she did not think anything was overboard when it came to Ealc's unacceptable political opinions, so Galadriel decided to pick her battles and changed the topic. Ealc could take it, she was sure.

"You saw Curunír in Gondor a few times, didn't you?" She asked Tugu. "Or at least his work?"

"I did."

"Could you describe it for Avorneth?"

Tugu shrugged. "It was exquisite. It's that simple. I've lived here long enough to have heard some stories about Annatár's work in Hollin, and that's the only thing to which I can compare it. I've never seen crafted objects that would be at the same time as functional and beautiful. Anything he made worked better than things made by another, and had a degree of sleek elegance that could not be found anywhere else."

Avorneth asked a number of technical questions which Tugu was not quite able to answer. The Noldorin lady gave a frustrated sigh. "Could you...could you possibly open your mind to me?" She asked then.

Tugu looked affronted.

"I understand it is a lot to ask," Galadriel said, trying to sound soothing, "but we are trying to determine whether we can trust Curunír or not. It is a rather crucial questions."

Tugu frowned some more, but then seemed to shake herself. "Well, I am a fan of honesty after all, am I not? I have nothing to be ashamed of in my mind. By all means, take a look."

"If you concentrate firmly on things made by Curunír, I will not see anything else," Avorneth assured her mildly, and then they were both silent for a long time.

Finally, Avorneth blinked and then shook her head. "I simply don't understand it," she said. "If he's such a good craftsman...why'd he make so many mistakes?"

In light of these new information, Galadriel finally asked the question she had been considering for some time. "He knows you're better in theory than in practice, correct?"

"Yes."

"But he doesn't otherwise have many details about your expertise?"

"As far as I know, he doesn't."

"Then...if he wanted to fool you either about his own competence, or about the nature of the objects he studies...this would be the best way to go about it, as far as he knows?"

Avorneth seemed taken aback. "Not if he wanted to deceive me about his expertise," she said after a moment. "he'd make mistakes in theory if his goal was that. But if he wanted me to be misinformed about the rings...then yes, I suppose this is what he'd do."

Galadriel frowned. If this was true, it was serious indeed. And more importantly, she did not think she could tell Olórin, who kept his mind open to Curunír. She did not wish for the white wizard to become even more suspicious of her. She would have to see what her cousin returned with, and then decide.

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Macalaurë came back a few months later, and when she met him at the edge of the forest again, he said only: "Curumo."

Galadriel's yes widened. "Are you sure?"

"Yes. I do not believe I would have recognised him had he been anyone else. But...in the early days, before you were even born, I used to spend a lot of time with Aule's folk. Back then I still believed if I was there enough, perhaps I would learn to understand craft by sheer exposure and then my father would like me better. But I just could not feel any connection to them - with one exception."

"Curumo."

"Yes," Macalaurë confirmed. "He...used his voice. He could pick a particular resonance and mould the material by it, and he could do the same to people. It...fascinated me. I spent Valian decades trying to learn the technique from him. Unfortunately, elven vocal chords are not truly made for that, so I only learned some of what he could do with people. I used it copiously later in my singing. The moment you mentioned his voice, I suspected, and there was no doubt in my mind when I saw him."

"You knew him well, then?" Galadriel asked, beginning a walk along the edges of her realm, needing to move in her nervousness.

"Relatively," he conceded, falling into step with her.

"What is your opinion of him?"

He hesitated. "He was a curious one, liked to experiment and discover new things, and..." Macalaurë stopped. "Forgive me. I considered him a friend, or as much of a friend as one of the Maiar could be. I hesitate to confirm your suspicions in any way. I would like nothing more than to assure you he was completely trustworthy, and yet...he was proud, I cannot deny it. Perhaps that is why I got on with him so well."

Galadriel left that without a comment, and considered the situation. "He was one of the most powerful, was he not?"

"Yes."

Galadriel did not like the sound of that. "He is likely more powerful than Olórin," she muttered, "even though in these forms, it is difficult to say how much power they left them."

"Your beloved Olórin is one of the wizards?" Macalaurë asked archly, distracted from the possible betrayal of his old friend. She had remembered him often, in those days by the sea.

"In a manner of speaking," Galadriel muttered.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, they have no memory of Aman, do they? So it is somewhat debatable if he is my beloved Olórin. But we are friends now, whoever he is. He is called Grey Wanderer by the elves."

Macalaurë frowned. "An old man dressed in grey who wanders the lands? I have heard of him, though under a different name."

Galadriel, in her turn, smiled. "I am not surprised, he walks the length of Middle-Earth...well, except for the East, where his Blue companions dwell and so, he says, he needs not venture there."

There was a short silence. "Well, I have done your errand, cousin," Macalaurë said at length, stopping. "Now I must depart to wander again, like your friend, though giving less counsel and hope where I go."

"Wait." He looked at her questioningly. "Before you go...would you sing with me?"

He shook his head. "There is but one song I sing nowadays," he replied.

"I know. That is the one I wish to join you in."

His gaze became very intent. "How could you sing that? You, of all, who always knew right from wrong? I remember the contempt I saw in your eyes in the years we wandered Beleriand together."

She smiled bitterly. "And yet I may carry more guilt than you do, nowadays. For at least you were only ever following orders, however wrong they might have been."

"And you slaughtered your own kind without them?" He asked, bitter.

"I might as well have," she replied. "How many died in Hollin? None of them would have been dead if it was not for me."

"It is not the same thing."

"Perhaps. You followed orders of your insane father and brother who was scarcely better at the end, for hundreds of years. I followed my own counsel, leading to death of thousands – tens of thousands – for millennia. Which of us will be judged more harshly by the Valar, I wonder?"

He shook his head. "At least you can be. I am banned from returning now."

She burst out laughing then, without a trace of joy. "So am I," she said.

"No!" He stared at her incredulously.

"Yes. Until I regret I ever left Aman, that is."

She needed to say no more, he understood immediately and she could see how horrified he was. "And we are both too strong to fade," he finished the thought.

"Oh, I think I will fade...eventually."

He only nodded. There was a silence, then he asked: "You still know the song, then?"

"Yes. I have sung it many times over the years, and you know I used to sing it with..." she swallowed. "With your brother."

Her own pain was reflected in his eyes, and she took his hand. "Come," she said, "I will take you to the mountains."

They crossed the Celebrant and walked up towards where Khazad-dûm used to be, and from the rocks bellow its gates, Galadriel showed him the houses of the Noldor who dwelt in the mountains beyond the forest. They watched in silence for a time, and then with his eyes on his distant kin, he began to sing. "Noldor, blood is on your hands, your bane's a tearful destiny," his soft words whispered to those who mostly did not remember the fall of their clan any more, and then he wove the tale in all its horror and grief. Galadriel's beautiful voice joined him when she sang of the memory of Aman, even as his voice interwove with hers to repeat in song the words of the Doom: "Noldor, blood is on your hands, tears unnumbered you will shed and dwell in pain." And so they sang together, and those who still remembered Aman and heard them wept, and their duet echoed in the mountains a long time after he left, and she returned to her realm.


	88. Council

AN: After this, the insane frequency of updates should go down a bit, since I'm out of chapters that only needed two more rounds of edits. Most of what I have left is completely unedited, so it will take a bit longer to get it into shape. Still, I should be done posting the story by the end of the year at the latest. Hopefully sooner, but I don't want to give more false promises.

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 **Chapter 88: Council**

 _Year 2460 of the Third Age, Lothlórien_

As Galadriel's mind wandered over the borders of her realm, idly searching for the minds of her friends, she caught something towards the east. Something she did not like at all.

She concentrated, and smiled grimly. „Well," she said aloud, „that did not take long."

In truth, she was surprised. She had not expected Sauron to appear in Amon Lanc again. She had expected him to show in Mordor next. She supposed this was a good sign – he was not ready to take over his dominion yet. She had dreaded his reunion with the Witch-king. She was not ready to read it as proof that it was not actually Sauron, however.

Her mind went out with a sharp purpose, now, and it connected with both Elrond's and Olórin's at the same time.

 _He_ _i_ _s back_ , she said simply.

 _What do we do?_ Elrond asked, his attention all on her immediately.

 _Mithrandir_ , she said, forcing herself to think the name she hated, because she knew there was nothing grey about the real Olórin at all, _should go and warn Thranduil, I think. He is the only one who can. But..._ _the Necromancer_ _does not seem to be weakened at all by his absence, though neither is he strengthened, thank_ _the One_ _. We will have to act quickly._

 _If we want to destroy him, not just drive him away, I cannot go alone again_ , Olórin pointed out. _We need more people, to have a chance of trapping him, at least. I need the two of you._

 _Thranduil will not allow it_ , Elrond pointed out.

Galadriel pushed back her desire to say how much exactly she cared for Thranduil's opinion, and instead, reiterated a previously made point: _He abandoned the area. It is no longer his kingdom._

 _He certainly acts like it is,_ Olórin replied. _Remember how he reacted when he found out I went there those centuries ago._

 _We_ _can try to negotiate with him again,_ Galadriel said slowly, _but I fear it will be to no effect. Our position has worsened_ _significantly_ _. While Amroth was king, Thranduil preserved at least vaguely amiable relationship towards this realm. Now he is all but openly hostile._

 _He barely speaks to me or tolerates me,_ Olórin agreed. _Getting him to accept even Elrond would be a miracle. For you, my friend, I have no hope. And while I do not wish to disrespect Elrond in any way, I fear we cannot do this without you._

 _I am certainly not offended,_ Elrond noted. _Findaráto himself lost a duel with Sauron. I could never hope to measure up to that._ Then, feeling Galadriel's pain at this casual reference, he added: _Forgive me._

 _No need. It is true, after all. My brother took a good measure of Sauron's strength, and that is why I would hesitate to enter his tower on my own, too. Yes, we need to be all together, at least, and preferably with Lord Laurefindil as well._

 _That makes our chances of convincing Thranduil even lower,_ Olórin pointed out.

Galadriel considered the problem. _We need a front,_ she decided, theough it left a bad taste in her mouth. _Something to make it less obvious that it is about the three of us, to make Thranduil more likely to accept it._

 _So more people, then_ , _to make us stand out less,_ Elrond immediately jumped on the plan. _Who?_

 _Well, Lord Ciryatan, obviously,_ Galadriel said immediately, and after a moment, added: _and some of his Sindar, too – no one related to Artanáro. If there is someone who can still have any kind of rational influence on Thranduil, it is him. Some of our own Sindar, too, those few who are left from Doriath still._

 _How do you intend to call this group together?_ Olórin asked. _You can hardly call to arms for an attack at Amon Lanc, Thranduil would go spare._

 _It needs to seem more general,_ Elrond mused. _A group interested in the good of Middle-earth...like you have councils in individual kingdoms, taking care of the good of the realm._ _T_ _his would be one like that, taking care of the good of Middle-Earth._ _Something_ _like we had with the representatives of the Numenorean colonies in the past age._

 _Nephew, you are brilliant,_ Galadriel stated.

 _Thank you, though I do not doubt you could have come up with an idea just as_ _good_ _soon_ , he replied with a smile.

 _If it is going to be like this, y_ _ou should have some more Noldor_ _involved_ _as well, least Thranduil gets suspicious_ , Olórin commented.

 _Very true,_ Galadriel admitted _. Avorneth should be there. She knows much about how the rings work, that could be useful if we ever discuss anything apart from the immediate matter of intervening against the Necromancer. Lord Laurefindil should certainly be part of it, like I said, and maybe Erestor? Or would that be too many Noldor for Thranduil? What do you think, Elrond?_

 _I would say definitely him, if the council is to serve any actual point at all, but we also have to think of equal representation to avoid conflict. Thranduil would hardly take the council seriously if there was one of him and scores of our people._ He considered. _Maybe we can have three people from each realm?_

Galadriel counted in her head. _Yes, why not. I can take Avorneth as one of my own,_ _in spite of her_ _mostly_ _staying in Rivendell now, and Celeborn, too, and that will be my three_ _._ _We have four concerned realms in total, so t_ _hat would make it twelve, plus Mithrandir…_ Galadriel paused. _Unfortunately, I am afraid there is no way we can leave Curunír ou_ _t. It would look suspicious, and if he found out – which he would – he would make sure to sabotage us with Thranduil. He would even bestir himself to travel so far North for that._

 _I still believe you take too critical a view of him,_ Olórin said mildly.

 _Because I have not told you everything,_ Galadriel returned. She had considered the matter carefully, and decided that the rik of the white wizard finding out all she knew and believed about him was too high.

 _You are certainly right that we need to have him on the council, if it is to have any semblance of legitimacy,_ Elrond returned to the matter at hand.

Galadriel thought about it _. In that case,_ _we should include Radagast as well._ _At_ _least that gives the wizard the_ _equal_ _number of three._ _The blue wizards are too far away to involve._ _Very well then, fifteen. That does not seem impossible to manage._

 _The council_ _should not be called by you_ , Elrond added.

 _No, you are right. Best if Lord Ciryatan does it._

 _I will send a messenger immediately_ , Elrond agreed.

 _I ho_ _p_ _e you are aware,_ Olórin said after a moment, chuckling lightly, _that if Thranduil could hear you now, all of his worst fears would be confirmed._

 _A good thing that he cannot, then_ , Galadriel replied simply.

-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-

It all came together soon enough, and in three years, they met. The most difficult part, in truth, had been to agree on a place. The Grey Havens were simply too far, and Thranduil was refusing to come to Rivendell. So in the end, absurd as it was, they met in the ruins of the old capital of Rhudaur. Galadriel supposed it would at least serve as a pointed reminder of the dangers of Sauron and his servants.

She hated leaving Lothlórien at such a time, especially as there was no one trustworthy enough and close to her enough to leave the ring with. She could only desperately hope that the mellyrn would survive the two weeks that were the minimal time of absence this would require, even if she rode at breakneck speed both there and back and never rested, and that Sauron, too, would not use this opportunity to mount an attack. He was too weak for that by all accounts, but she worried. He was not the only danger, either – with the re-emergence of the Necromancer, the orcs started to appear in the mountains again, drawn to his presence. Celebrían and Arwen would not come to Lothlórien any time soon, she feared, and her leaving it was a bad idea all around.

There was no helping it, however. She needed to be at this meeting in person, and Thranduil would never come to Lothlórien.

She had mixed feelings when she arrived and saw that Arminas came with Lord Ciryatan. She had not seen him for a very long time, and was glad to, but he was undoubtedly and obviously a Noldo, and reminded Thranduil of Lord Ciryatan's Noldorin connection, too. It did not serve Galadriel's plans at all. At least the other one who came with him was a Sinda. Galadriel knew him by sight from her time in Lindon, but did not remember his name.

Elrond brought those he had said he would, and Thranduil, she saw, came with two Silvan advisors. She had considered bringing Ealc, but there was not enough space on the council, and besides, the elf would likely lose her temper with Thranduil and say something sharp to him. Like most Silvan of Lothlórien, ever since the last war and the terrible losses they suffered, she did not have much sympathy for the Greenwood ruling family.

They all gathered in the one remaining room of the old royal palace, sitting on assorted pieces of broken furniture or stone. _I hope,_ Galadriel mused, _that this is not symbolic for how successful our plans for the future of this world will be._

"The first order of business," Curunír said when they were all seated, "should, I believe, be the question of who will be the head of the council."

Galadriel was a little blindsided for a moment. _Oh, he is good_ , she thought to herself. "I propose Mithrandir," she said as soon as she adjusted to this new idea, thinking that had Ealc actually been here, she would have no doubt scoffed at this need to always had a designated leader of everything.

Of course Thranduil protested her suggestion.

 _You have to take it_ , Galadrel insisted in her friend's mind, sensing his discomfort, _otherwise it will fall to Curunír._

 _I cannot take it_ , Olórin opposed, _Thranduil would immediately lose confidence in_ _the council_ _, and do not forget it is for his benefit that we are_ _d_ _oing this. It is not_ _as if_ _we suppose this council will have any real power beyond the one task, so it does not matter._

 _Curunír will find a way for it to have real power if he is the head, I am sure of it,_ Galadriel urged.

 _Nevertheless, we cannot jeopardize the primary purpose_ , Olórin insisted, and spoke. "I thank you for the honour, my lady," he said, "but I would not wish to be tied down to one place, as one in such position would surely have to be. And, too, Curunír is the most powerful of our order, so if the honour should go to one of us, it should be him.

Elrond, who had heard Galadriel's conversation with Olórin, gave a mental sigh and said: "I agree. I support Curunír as well."

It was short work after that. _I could have done without that humiliation_ , Galadriel thought to herself ruefully. She considered whether she should not have shared the full extent of her worries about Curunír with Olórin, but she still believed the risk of the white wizard himself knowing was greater. Besides, Elrond had known, and he still supported him, still judging it the lesser evil. Olórin might have done the same. Once more, Galadriel was forced to consider whether her experience from Hollin did not make her overcautious.

However, the profound effect of the decision showed as soon as they started to discuss the evil in Mirkwood.

Galadriel began to summarize the situation when she was interrupted.

"Forgive me," Curunír said in that voice of his, the one that could mould metal as easily as people, "but it seems to me that your conclusion that it's Gorthaur is based only on guesswork and that you have no solid proof. We need more than that if we're to do something about it. Coming in unprepared, or prepared for the wrong enemy, could have dreadful consequences. We who are gathered here are the wisest in Middle-Earth. If we were injured or killed in the fight, and yet Gorthaur was left in the world, it'd surely mean its ruin. No, we need to analyze carefully, take every little thing into account..."

He spoke on and on, but the gist remained the same, and after a time, Galadriel stopped listening to his words. They were not important unless she wanted to study rhetoric, of which he would be an unparalleled teacher. But they did not say anything of substance, so she concentrated on his tone instead, trying to understand how he achieved the effect he achieved.

She had to give that up as well, after several attempts. She could not comprehend it, and when she focused too much, she began to feel the sway, too. So instead she shifted her focus once again, to watching the others at the council and their reactions.

Some were clearly completely swayed. Radagast seemed to be almost in trance, and Thranduil and one of his advisors were not far from it. The other one had a rather shrewd look on his face that did nothing to inspire Galadriel's confidence.

Olórin's and Elrond's faces were worried, and so was Lord Laurefindil's. Erestor looked contemplative. Lord Ciryatan was frowning, as if trying to puzzle out a complicated problem. Avorneth was scowling even more deeply, and so was Celeborn. Arminas' face she could not read, but the Sinda Lord Ciryatan had brought with him looked swayed as well.

All in all, Galadriel was deeply concerned with how the vote would go, and did her best to disrupt Curunír's convincing speech.

The way he pushed any of her interruptions aside and simply continued on was truly masterful.

"We'll get to that later, my lady," and "that isn't the primary concern now" and "you tend to focus on the insignificant," all said so smoothly and soothingly that no one dared to protest, the tone of his voice assuring all that everything was exactly as it should be.

In the end, the majority of the council agreed with Curunír – even Erestor, which made Galadriel smile a little in spite of the seriousness of the situation. She believed Elrond would have some sharp words with him once they returned to Rivendell.

What hurt much more was that Curunír had managed to convince Arminas. Galadriel understood he was far from the danger, but still. He was Lord Ciryatan's husband, so if he had no respect for her own wisdom, she would have thought that he would be guided by his spouse's, if nothing else. Lord Ciryatan gave his ring to Olórin, not to Curunír. Though he did not quite share her own suspicions and misgivings, he knew enough not to support him in this. Arminas, clearly, did not.

But perhaps she should not be so harsh on them. Curunír's voice truly had power, and the fact that he had no compunction about using it was the most important indication that all was not quite well with him, that his intentions were not always quite above board.

Galadriel knew, after all. She had fought against the temptation to imbue her voice with her will many times in her life, and from her narrowly won resistance, she knew what the cost would have been had she succumbed to it. His method might be slightly different, but the core intention of it, she believed, remained the same. No, she did not trust Curunír at all, and less and less as the time went.

"I'll of course submit to the will of this council," she said aloud, "but I still insist that we have to do something. You excluded the possibility of a direct intervention for now. Fine. But what if it truly is Gorthaur who hides there? We need a way to find out, at least, and we need to be on our guard if it's him, or if whoever it is starts to spread his influence."

"I believe," Thranduil said haughtily, "that if he does spread it, I'd be the first to notice."

"Of course," Celeborn replied, "but it might only be at a time when it endangered your kingdom. Wouldn't a more advance warning be to your advantage?"

"I'm sure your wife can check from your seat," came the sneering reply. "You're quite near, after all."

"And yet we've been unable to ascertain the exact nature of the evil for centuries," Celeborn pointed out.

Thranduil's expression said quite clearly what he thought of that.

"I agree that we need a better, more careful guard," Elrond chimed in. "Someone to be closer."

"If there's service required," Radagast said unexpectedly, "then I'll do it, if it's within my powers."

"That would be excellent, my friend!" Olórin replied quickly, before anyone could say anything else. Galadriel wondered whether Radagast had spoken up at Olórin's mental suggestion. After all, Thranduil could have no real objection against him. "As long as King Thranduil doesn't protest, we could settle you in the abandoned part of the forest, somewhere close to where Amon Lanc used to be..."

Thranduil did try put forward some token protests, but in the end, he did agree. Perhaps he realized that since this arrangement was of the most benefit to him, no one believed in his protestations anyway.

The council dispersed soon after that. Galadriel wished to hurry back to Lothlórien, eager to return her protection to it, but there was one more thing she needed to arrange still. She called to Avorneth, and went for a little walk with her in the ruined city.

"I do not trust Curunír in the slightest," she said. "We will need every scrap of information about the ruling ring we can get, and the fact that he is the one who professes to be working on it only increases my fears. I know I have given you this task some time ago already, but it will soon become a very pressing matter, so I simply wanted to ask you once again to devote as much time as you can to it. We especially need anything you can tell us about possible signs that the ring was found again – by anyone, I mean. I am relatively certain we would know if Sauron found it."

"I will do what I can, Aunt."

"Good. And give Celebrían and the children my love, will you?"

"Of course," she replied, smiling.

"How are they bearing their renewed restrictions on travel?" Galadriel asked. She did not believe it would cause as much harm this time. Celebrían was happier in Rivendell, by her husband's side, than she was in Lothlórien, in spite of her love for the forest and her father.

"It has only been a few years," Avorneth pointed out. "It is not so long since they have seen you. Arwen bears it serenely."

"And Celebrían?" Galadriel asked in surprise.

Avorneth sighed. "Less so," she said. "She is irritated, of course, but she also seems to be...almost made nervous by it."

"Do you know what is wrong?"

"Yes," Avorneth admitted after a moment, "but I swore a very solemn oath not to tell you."

It should probably not surprise Galadriel, but it still hurt a little, even after all those centuries. "Can you at least tell me whether there is a reason to worry."

"...yes. Yes, there is. Celebrían is...not doing what is best for her now. I am doing what I can to convince her otherwise, but it will take time."

Galadriel frowned. "Does Elrond know?"

"I am not certain. I believe – some of it, but not all. He worries as well."

None of this was reassuring at all.

 _Tell her she is not weak_ , Galadriel told Elrond when they discussed the situation some years after the council, Celebrían's nerves and irritation gradually worsening and Elrond growing more worried.

 _I have_ , he replied. _She finds it difficult to believe in light of the fact that you can travel safely and no one questions it._

Galadriel exhaled. It was the same thing, over and over again. _I do so rarely enough_ , she pointed out tiredly, _and I have Nenya._

 _You know it is not the reason, and your daughter will know as well._

 _Then what would you have me say?_ She asked, frustrated.

 _I do not know. I truly wish for this war to be over._ There was a pause. _I believe,_ he elaborated then, _that there is a matter she wishes dearly to discuss with her father._

 _Do you know what it is?_

 _No. It appears to be something private, and something that troubles her greatly, but she asked me not to look for the answer in her mind, and I have respected her wish._

 _Well then, I can convince Celeborn to go to her._

Elrond hesitated. _Surely he should not be leaving his realm at this time…_

Galadriel scoffed _. I assure you I am quite capable of ruling it for a month or so. Of course Celeborn will go to help his beloved daughter. Let me arrange everything._

Celeborn seemed deeply worried when Galadriel told him, and set out for a journey within a few days.

He was gone gone long, and when he returned, his worry had not entirely abated.

"What did our daughter need?" Galadriel asked him.

"She did not tell," he replied, obviously deeply disturbed by that, "but she was truly deeply troubled and I'm not entirely certain I've managed to help at all. Elrond's right, this war needs to end soon. What means of convincing Curunír do we have?"

"It is not him he should be concentrating on – I don't believe for a moment he'll let himself be convinced – but we need to gather conclusive evidence for the others. Radagast might be useful in this, but still, it'll fall to Mithrandir for a large part."

Celeborn nodded. "The sooner it's done, the better," he said, and Galadriel could not possibly agree more.

She desperately wished she could go to her daughter and console her in some way, or that she could at least send Celeborn to live there for as long as Celebrían needed him.

At least Avorneth is there, she tried to console herself. At least that much I gave give her.

It seemed like pitifully little, though.

A few more years later, when Celebrían did not improve, Galadriel told Elrond to put together a large entourage – as large as he could afford – and send it with Celebrían to Lothlórien. Galadriel would send her own people to meet them, to ensure safety.

When Celebrían came, it was difficult to credit all the reports Galadriel had been getting. She seemed almost as cheerful as before the Necromancer reappeared. In fact, Galadriel had not seen her laugh so freely for a long time. Celeborn, however, insisted this was very different from how he had seen her in Rivendell.

Given this, Galadriel suggested if, perhaps, her daughter would not like to stay in Lothlórien for the time being. After all, it was perfectly safe in Caras Galadhon and its vicinity.

Celebrían had refused rather sharply, and in fact, departed within the month.

Galadriel grew even more troubled, especially as journeys like this were really not feasibly very often. Putting together the entourage put too much of a train on Lothlórien and Rivendell both. So Galadriel, apart from puzzling over the mystery of convincing the Council to attack the Necromancer, wrecked her mind for a way to help her daughter with a problem she did not even know about.

Elladan and Elrohir came to Lothlórien less than they used to now, too, with the danger returned. They spent much of their time among the Rangers of the North, training them and helping them in their efforts to make the lands of what used to be Arnor as free of Sauron's agents as possible.

"Are there orcs to be found, then?" Galadriel asked on the rare occasion that they did come.

"So far, only in the mountains and near to them," Elladan replied, "but it will come, I have no doubt of it."

"Neither do I," Galadriel assured him. "Be careful not to stretch yourselves too thin – some things you cannot prevent." It felt ironic giving that advice, but she knew well enough its truth, even though she was not always so skilled at following it.

"It is rather the opposite we are in danger of," Elrohir replied. "With how much time we spend in Rivendell with Mother and Father, and then in our own pursuits, I fear we do not give the Rangers as much help as we should."

"Yet how long has it been since you went to Gondor for your pleasure?"

"That much is true," Elrohir conceded. "We do not leave for long any more, out of fear that an unexpected attack of the enemy could catch us unaware. But we do still indulge our pleasures enough. We are here, are we not?"

"I should hope that visiting me and your grandfather is not counted as an idle pleasure in your mind."

"No," Elrohir assured her, "and yet...you do not need our help, do you?"

"I may need your company," she replied. "Being robbed of that of your mother and your sister, and Avorneth, too, I would loath to part with it." She saw Elrohir's expression, and quickly added: "Of course I understand real duty takes precedence."

"No, you are right. We should come here more often. As our idle fun no longer takes us this way, we neglect you."

Galadriel sighed. Making them feel guilty was the last thing she had wanted. "I was only joking, truly," she said. "You have your own lives, and you have every right to live them as you see fit."

"With you and Father so devoted to your duties, and Mother not being free to go where she wishes, it seems particularly selfish to."

Galadriel thought of Arwen. It seemed at least two of Elrond's children inherited this tendency to self-deprecation. She hesitated a little, since it felt rather underhanded, but then asked the thing she had been meaning to ask ever since they arrived: "How is your mother?"

Elladan sighed. "Something worries her," he said. "We do not know what. Besides, that is, being shut in Rivendell."

"We take her on rides with us whenever we can," Elrohir added. "To the lands around Rivendell we are sure are free of orcs."

"Rides?" Galadriel asked in some surprise. Celebrían had never been particularly fond of riding.

"Walks, too," Elrohir amended, "but she seems to be fonder of rides lately."

Perhaps, Galadriel mused, she felt closer to real freedom at the faster speed. "And as to what else worries her, you have no notion?"

"I know she sleeps badly," Elladan admitted. "We often find her awake and walking in the gardens when we return from a journey in the night."

"And your father does not know what is happening?"

"He does, I believe, or at least has some idea. He simply does not know what to do."

Galadriel dearly wished she did.

-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-


	89. Horror

**Chapter 89: Horror**

 _Year 2509 of the Third Age, Lothlórien_

Celebrían's scream tore through Galadriel and made her sit up straight in bed, panting hard.

Her mind flooding with pictures of horror, she pushed them ruthlessly aside as she slid down from the flet and broke into a run.

Celeborn was scarcely a few seconds behind her, and as they ran together, he shouted at a night guard he came across: „Tell Rusgorn to fortify the borders and hold it under control here. We...have to go." His voice broke at the end, and he could not provide an explanation.

They sprinted to the stables and mounted their horses in one swift movement, tearing through the forest and up the mountain slopes without talking, and trying not to think as well, trying to forget, trying to pretend, trying not to hear the despair and pain that emanated from their daughter.

Galadriel's mind was crowded by random images that were sometimes so vivid they almost blinded her to the road she was taking, and had she had any mind left for it, she would have been grateful that her horse knew the way so well and needed no direction. As it was, she was entirely occupied by memories of Celebrían just after she had been born, as a little girl playing with Avorneth and Mírdan, on her wedding day – and among those, always, the terrible visions of torture overlaid over them, so that Celebrían's wedding dress appeared stained with blood, and the child's laughter in the memory turned into a wail of indescribable pain.

It was hours of sheer terror barely pushed back. They were almost at Redhorn Pass when they felt the pain recede.

At first Galadriel was alarmed - _no,_ she thought, _no, she cannot be dead, my daughter cannot be dead_ , but then she realized she was not, she was simply not in pain anymore, and the contrast in the mental presence was such she did not recognize it for a moment.

"They have her...they saved her..." Galadriel muttered, dazed, but still they rode on across the mountains, barely slower, barely daring to hope, let alone feel relief.

Just as they turned north, they reached a group of riders.

"Grandmother! Grandfather!" Elladan cried when he saw them, and his voice was breaking on pain.

Galadriel rode to his side without a word, and saw that Elrohir was cradling his mother in front of him on his horse. "Put her down," she said. "I have to see to her."

Elrohir obeyed instantly, and Galadriel knelt by the unconscious Celebrían and examined her wounds, closing her mind to all and refusing to allow herself to feel anything. The injuries were numerous and not light, but they were not, praise Eru, beyond what she could help with. Elrohir had already done what first aid he knew, she could see. Galadriel did what she could in her turn. But as hard as she tried, she could not cast her mind back to Aman, not now, not when she was shielding so much of her own thoughts from herself, and so after some time she rose soon and lifted Celebrían back to the saddle.

There was so little she could do in this state. She could not heal her daughter the way she should, the way it was her duty to, the way- She stopped her mind by sheer force of will. Not now. Not yet. She simply had to hope that Elrond would be able to get a better handle of himself.

"One of her wounds is poisoned," she said, her voice strangely distant. "I will notify your father. I have taken care of it enough that her state should not deteriorate much in the time needed to reach Rivendell, but still, ride fast." She turned to Celeborn. "Will you accompany them?"

"And you?"

"I have to return to Lothlórien. The borders cannot remain unprotected for long, not if there are orcs attacking at Redhorn," she said in the same distant voice. That was not the true reason why she could not go to Rivendell, but it would have to do. She could not think about it too much, not yet.

"Are you certain…?" Celeborn asked hesitatingly, though he was already re-mounting his horse.

"Yes. Go with our daughter. Quickly."

He nodded once and the company left in speed.

Galadriel watched them for a moment, then she briefly touched Elrond's mind to say: _I have seen her. They are on the way to you now, prepare for healing a poisoned wound, and many others. They should arrive in a_ _day or so._

The horses would likely not survive such a long ride at such a speed, but she had no room left to feel sorry for the animals. She had no room to feel anything.

She turned her own horse, then, and drove it into a measured canter over the mountains and back into the forest, her power supporting it so that it would not exhaust itself. She did not race to save anyone. She did not need to kill her own horse. She did not need to add to the number of lives she- no.

Not yet. Still a little further to go.

She shut the gates on her feelings firmly again and simply rode, rode and thought of nothing but her destination.

She dismounted before the gates of Caras Galadhon and passed through, telling the guards to notify Rusgorn of her presence but to leave her in peace otherwise, and made her way to the little secluded space with her Mirror, the one that could not easily be found by anyone but her or her family.

She carefully lowered herself to the ground there, and that was when the dam broke.

She howled her despair towards the moon and the stars, finding no consolation in looking upon the Silmaril tonight. Guilt like she had never known before – and she was no stranger to it – wracked her, and her shuddering sobs shook her entire body.

 _Why?_ She asked the same question over and over again, _why, why, why…_

And always she was receiving the answer, _you know why_.

Because you are a disgusting, selfish creature, the worst mother that ever walked Arda, because you could not give even a little bit of yourself to your own daughter, and so she was tortured now, tortured for hours before someone could save her, and it could not even be you, you could not even manage that much, in spite of her suffering almost at your doorstep, it had to be her sons who saved her, your grandchildren, because you are not even capable of protecting those closest to you, what use is such power? You could not even heal her, not even that, you, the student of Lady Estë, useless, useless, useless, her own husband and your beloved nephew will have to do that, will have to work through his grief and pain to save his own wife because you are good for nothing. You were selfish and your daughter was tortured because of that, defenseless, weak, left to their mercy because you could not give anything of yourself to your own daughter, and now she will sail and you will not see her again for thousands of years, and Elrond and her children will lose her for centuries as well, or you will lose them, and what about Celeborn, how will he be able to bear it, what if he fades, what if they all fade, what if your grandchildren fade because of this, and all of this is your fault, your fault, your fault…

She clawed at her own face, she pounded the ground with her fists, she wailed and screamed, but then there was no strength in her left even for that. She curled into a tight ball and just cried.

The twisted memories were assaulting her again, Celebrían as a baby, as a child, as a young woman, always with blood pouring out of her mouth, with open wounds on her face, with her nails torn out, pale like a corpse, and the words of accusation spilling out with the blood. "Why did you hate me, mother?" In a tiny, hurt voice of a child. "Why did you let them hurt me, mother?" In a voice twisted by pain. "Why did you kill me, mother?" In a hollow, empty voice.

And that voice in Galadriel's head answered for her: because she is repulsive, because she is disgusting, because she is selfish, because she is worthless, everything she ever did in life only ever brought grief and death, she corrupts everything she touches, and so she ruined your life as well. It is all her fault, everything bad that ever happened to you, all of it, the death of your friends, that you had to leave your home, your torture, all of it, her fault.

And Galadriel could only agree. Yes, it was, all of it, every single thing.

She was soon too exhausted even for crying. When she finally slipped into unconsciousness, it was a relief.

-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-

It was days before Elrond contacted her, days that she spent hidden in that little island of peace she built for herself around the Mirror, and which had no peace for her now. _Her body is healed_ , he said, and she could feel all his despair and grief, _but her soul...I am not sure she will heal._

 _She will not, not here_ , Galadriel replied numbly. _She will sail._

 _You have seen it?_

 _Centuries ago. But I did not…_ She choked. _I did not see why._

 _I...sorry, I cannot...I will let you know when she reaches the decision_ , he said simply and his mind turned away.

A month later, Celeborn returned.

Galadriel spent the time hidden away still. She had emerged, once, to hand the temporary control of the realm over to Feliel, Ealc and Rusgorn, then retreated again to be alone with her grief, guilt and pain.

She could not as much as look at Celeborn, and she kept her mind closed to him.

"My love," he said, coming to her and embracing her from behind where she sat, because she turned away from him, "please talk to me, look at me, I need you now..."

And that voice in her head, again, saying _see? See? You guilt and shame is such that you cannot even offer support to your husband, you failed him, too, you failed everyone, every single one of them, they all relied on you and you failed them all…_

A long wail escaped her and she curled on the ground, escaping his embrace.

"My love, please, I cannot...I do not have the strength now, I cannot help you, please..."

"I know," she choked out. "I know, forgive me-" but she stopped herself, because how could he ever forgive her, if he knew it was all her fault? "Do not trouble yourself with me," she said at length.

"But I need you...my love, why will you not talk to me? We could grieve and heal together..."

"No! No, I cannot, I must not, I..."

"But why? Why? Tell me, I cannot lose you as well, I cannot, not when we will lose her soon, please stay with me!"

Galadriel kept silent, staring into the distance.

"What do you want from me?" Celeborn exploded. "I cannot carry this burden all on my own, this is what marriage means, this is what we swore to each other, to help each other through difficult times, so why are you leaving me behind now? Why?"

"I would only make it worse," she whispered at length.

"What?" He was immediately alarmed. "Have you seen something? Is there more horror waiting for her? Will she...will she die? Will she fade before she sails?"

"No, nothing like that."

"Then what…?"

Galadriel sighed, and with the feeling that it did not matter anymore, that nothing mattered anymore, she looked at him from her prone position and uncovered her mind.

He staggered back at the weight of her guilt and shame, and sunk to his knees in front of her. "No," he said and embraced her best that he could, "no, it was not your fault, it was not, it was no one's fault, no one's but the orcs'..."

Unable to speak, Galadriel forcefully pushed her memories at him, memories of the time when she was pregnant, of her talks with The Eldest.

He shrunk back, horrified.

"Leave me be," she repeated.

He did, and her tears began to flow again.

-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-

Half a year passed before Elrond announced Celebrían's final decision to sail.

Every trained soldier in Lothlórien was out on guard duty, and Galadriel and Celeborn set out to Rivendell to bid their final farewells.

They did not speak on the journey.

They did not speak much in general, lately. Galadriel had closed her mind again after that revelation, and he did not ask her to open it any more. They spoke about the ruling of the realm, which they took back into their hands out of necessity. That was all. They had not been together, as husband and wife, since the tragedy.

Galadriel did not even have space to regret that, or grieve over that. Her daughter's fate occupied all of her thoughts. And now, she was supposed to say her final goodbyes, or at least final for thousands, perhaps tens of thousands, of years.

Though, what did she know? With how things were now, she might well fade as soon as the war ended.

Even if she did, though, it would likely be a very long time until she was let out of the Halls of Mandos. Whatever her fate, she would not see Celebrían again for ages.

She had no idea what she would say to her daughter once she reached Rivendell. She only knew she could not admit the truth, not when she had assured her recently that she was strong – what could she say now, _I made you weak?_

It would not help anything to have Celebrían depart West with the knowledge that her own mother hated her. It might conceivably be enough to have her fade before she left.

No, truth was out of the question, but what to say instead? What words were not empty and hollow? What consolation could she offer?

Once in Rivendell, Celeborn and Galadriel went into Celebrían's room together. She looked up at them from the chair she was reclining in, her eyes shadowed and haunted. "Father, mother," she said.

"Beloved." Galadriel walked to her and embraced her, even though she felt dirty and as if she should not as much as touch her. _She must not know, she must not suspect_ , she reminded herself. "I am so sorry, and I will miss you so much."

Celebrían only nodded, clearly lacking the strength to say anything more. Celeborn gave his own embrace, but was apparently at a loss for words.

Galadriel thought of offering encouragement about the West, about its beauties and joy, but she knew it would sound hollow. Celebrían knew enough of her history to know she had longed to leave. How could she believe her now, if Galadriel described it as the most desirable place in Arda?

She thought of mentioning Mírdan, the one good friend that was sure to await Celebrían on the other side, but his tragic fate that made it necessary to sail would likely only remind Celebrían of the bleakness of her own situation.

After a moment, Galadriel decided to give Celeborn and her daughter privacy and left in search for Lord Laurefindil. She did not feel equal to facing Elrond. To him, too, her mind had been closed for the last half a year.

"My heart goes out to you, my lady," the golden lord said when she found him.

"Thank you," she replied, her voice strained with the knowledge that she deserved no sympathy. "I wanted to ask..." the question echoing in her mind again, _why, why, why?_ , "do we know why she rode from Rivendell at all?"

Lord Laurefindil hesitated. "It seems...it seems your daughter had something very urgent to discuss with your husband, and judged it would be safe enough to leave in secrecy, alone..."

 _Oh Eru, please, let Celeborn never find out_ , Galadriel thought desperately.

"She said...after she woke, it was the first thing she said, from what I know...she said: 'I thought I was strong enough.'"

Galadriel, unable to bear it, fled.

She wandered the gardens of Rivendell, and shying from this final confirmation that it was all her fault, her desperate mind latched onto the first thing Lord Laurefindil had said. What did Celebrían need with Celeborn? What could she have needed that could not wait for a note to be sent and for Celeborn to come to her? Could it have been prevented? Why did it happen, was there a reason beside Galadriel's repulsive selfishness?

She returned to her daughter's room only after her thoughts had run through the same circle several times, and spent many hours in attempting to give a proper farewell. Celeborn only left them for a very short time, and when he did, Galadriel urgently asked, unable to stop herself: "Why did you ride south, beloved? Did you truly need something of your father?"

Celebrían looked at her with her shadowed eyes and said in a hollow voice: "No. I had...visions. Darker and darker, they were becoming intolerable. I needed the respite of Lothlórien."

Galadriel stared. She wanted ask why Celebrían never asked her for help, but she knew perfectly well why, of course. Like everything else, this, too, was her fault.

"I am so sorry-" Galadriel began, then paused. Sorry for what? What could she actually say? "That there was no one to ride with you and to protect you," she finished. That was not what she was sorry for, but it would have to do, like the weakest substitute for truth she could find.

Celebrían shook her head, still with the same, hollow expression. "I did not wish to take anyone. As I said, it was...unbearable. I could not wait for a full escort to be gathered, and I did not wish...if I had gone with just a few, they would have been killed."

"Your sons-"

"Were not in Rivendell when I left. Neither was Lord Laurefindil."

Galadriel hesitated. "So when you said that you thought you were strong enough-"

"It was chiefly to spare Elrond pain. I always knew I was weak. Especially since I had children."

Galadriel clenched her fists so tight her nails drew blood. "You are not weak."

"Mother, please. We are a little beyond that now, do you not think? The time for platitudes is past."

"I just- I would not have you believe this was in any way your fault." _Not when it was mine._

Celeborn returned in that moment, and prevented them from saying anything more. Perhaps it was a good thing. Galadriel did not know what, beside the truth it was impossible to give, she could offer.

When the night fell, she did not even try to sleep, and instead searched out Avorneth.

She found her packing.

Somewhere in the back of her mind, she registered the feeling of loneliness creeping upon her again, at the knowledge that another of her loved ones would depart. But it was insignificant compared to everything else.

"Are you sailing with her, then?" She asked.

"Yes," Avorneth replied simply.

"What about Ealc?"

"We spoke about it when she visited me here. She will take a few years to arrange matters in Lindórinand, and then she will follow me West."

Galadriel only nodded. It was, she supposed, to be expected.

Avorneth hesitated. "I...I know that I have responsibilities in the Council, Aunt – in two councils - , and I know my work there is important, but I do not wish to let her go alone. I had thought perhaps if one of the children was going...but they are not. And I...I have felt that I stayed here on borrowed time ever since my brother sailed. I always felt I should have gone with him, and I would have, had it not been for Ealc. Now I understand the intention in that. It was so that I could accompany Celebrían, and I will gladly do so. I look forward to seeing him again. My only regret is that I leave my duties to you unfulfilled."

"I do not wish for Celebrían to go alone any more than you do," Galadriel replied. "Her children love Middle-Earth too much, and she would not pressure them to sail before they were ready. Her parents and husband cannot accompany her West for responsibilities they have here. I would not have her lose her best friend to the same."

"Thank you, Aunt. I have written down everything I have discovered about the ruling ring and I will leave it for you. I am sorry I cannot do more."

"You are accompanying my daughter to an unknown land where it is not certain she will know anyone, Avorneth. You are doing very much indeed." She paused. "Is anyone who still remembers the West going with her?"

"Of course. Over half of the household is leaving with her, in fact – Elrond wishes to alleviate the loneliness she feels as much as possible, and he entreated all who planned to sail before the war starts fully again to go now, with his wife."

Galadriel nodded. It sounded like Elrond, and it was a good plan. "Can you point me in the direction of one of those old ones that are going with her, then?"

"Of course." Avorneth considered. "There is Elemmakil, for example...he was one of King Turukáno's people, and he has been fighting his need to sail for centuries now, his loyalty to Elrond keeping him here. Finally Elrond told him that he would show the most loyalty by accompanying and protecting his wife, so he is going now."

"Will you take me to him?"

Avorneth did, and meeting the weary eyes beyond the door, Galadriel could see for herself that it was high time indeed that this elf sailed. "My lady," he said, surprised.

"Elemmakil. I have some messages that I would like carried West – not written, only short greetings," she would have liked to write, she would have dearly liked it, but she had no mind for anything but Celebrían now, "- and I thought that you would remember those for whom they are intended, and so it would be easier than burdening Avorneth with it."

"Of course, my lady. Come in, please."

-g-g-g-g-g-g-

The next morning, Galadriel was waylaid by Arwen as soon as she left her room.

"Grandmother," she said. "I was trying to find you everywhere yesterday. I...may I speak to you?"

"Of course," Galadriel said, trying to find some strength somewhere for her beloved granddaughter. "What do you need?"

"Your advice," Arwen replied as they headed out of the house and to the more distant corners of the gardens. "I feel...guilty for not sailing with Mother. I feel like I should."

"Why?" Galadriel simply asked.

"My brothers clearly cannot. They love Middle-Earth with all their hearts, and they are much attached to Men. My father cannot because of his responsibilities. The same is true for you and grandfather. Should I, then, not go?"

"Do you wish to leave Middle-Earth?"

"Not exactly," Arwen replied hesitatingly, "but I am not as attached to it as my brothers. I feel that most of the things I like to do, I could do equally well in the West, and some of them better, for history lives there. That is when I think about it rationally. And yet...I feel, very strongly, that I should not sail. I do not understand why."

Galadril thought of the vision in the mirror. _Oh Eru_ , she thought, _please no. Please, let her not die, not now, Elrond could not survive that._

"Perhaps it is because of your father," she said. "He needs you."

"He has my brothers," Arwen pointed out.

"You know very well that you are closer to him than they are."

"Yes," she admitted, "and they are closer to Mother, and yet they are staying."

"I do not doubt that it pains them."

"They say they stay for revenge," Arwen replied, and Galadriel felt a pang of pain, even though she had thought she had no space for anything beside despair for Celebrían.

"Perhaps I should speak to them..." she said hesitantly. In truth, she did not believe it would do any good. She had no energy to be truly persuasive, nor any confidence left to make herself into any sort of authority. Still, the vague sense of obligation remained.

Arwen shook her head. "They do not...much speak to anyone now, except mother."

"Still, I will try. But first – did you come to me because you are considering sailing after all?"

Arwen stayed silent for a moment, looking away. "I am afraid," she said then, "that I came to you to hear you tell me that it is all right that I do not go."

Galadriel had to close her eyes at that. "I am not fit to tell anyone what the right thing to do is," she said then."

"I am certain you are, but still, it was...not fair of me to ask this of you. This has to be my decision. And the truth remains that while it when I reason about it, it seems I should, I do not truly _feel_ I should. I do not know if that is my selfishness influencing me, or..."

In the light of this trust, Galadriel tried to at least consider what was the right choice for herself, what she should say, but it was beyond her in that moment, so, exhausted, she decided on honesty. "It might be a premonition," she said.

"You mean that I should not go because there is a task for me here?"

"Yes."

Arwen grasped at this straw gratefully. "Thank you! Thank you. Yes, that must be it. I...I will think about it."

Yet Galadriel saw her decision in her eyes, now that she had a valid excuse. She supposed she should be glad Elrond would not have to face a double parting now, though she had to stop herself from contemplating what was to come in future.

She went to see Elladan and Elrohir instead, like she had said she would. As Arwen had predicted, they were not very willing to talk. "We have offered mother we would go with her," Elrohir only said. "She told us not to."

And that was that, and so a few hours later, Galadriel stood in front of Last Homely House, watching the large procession preparing to leave.

"Should your parents be there already," she muttered to Avorneth, trying to keep her voice calm, "give them my greetings and love. And...to Artanáro as well."

Avorneth only nodded and embraced her, too emotional for words.

And then Galadriel was giving her last embrace to her daughter, and watched her leave, accompanied by her husband, sons and father at least to the Havens, since they could not do more.

And Galadriel returned to her lonely tears in Lothlórien, and to the echoes of _your fault, your fault, your fault._


	90. Intermezzo

**Chapter 90: Intermezzo**

 _Third millennium of the Third Age, Lothlórien_

It was a timeless period of grief.

Galadriel went to councils, at least she thought she did, and saw to matters under her purview with such detachment she could not say what the state of affairs was if someone asked her.

She held up the barrier at the borders of Lothlórien, but that was the most she could do.

She was not sure what was happening in the outside world – or even inside, to be truthful.

Celeborn was not speaking to her, and neither was Elrond. They were both drowning in their own grief, she supposed – but she did not have enough capacity to truly think about it.

Her grandchildren no longer travelled over the mountains.

And her daughter and Avorneth, of course, were gone.

Every moment, waking of sleeping, was filled with the images of Celebrían's suffering, with what Galadriel had felt in her mind and the wounds her daughter had received and her haunted eyes.

Resonating in her thoughts: "I always knew I was weak," said in that hollow voice, that death sentence articulated now, but first pronounced before Celebrían was even born.

Her daughter, her own daughter, and all because of her.

It was a constant, unavoidable chorus in Galadriel's mind, the mind she closed to everyone else.

She sometimes forgot why she did not let go, why she did not let the darkness engulf her completely and take her away. She only remembered – the one clear thought in the sea of pain – that she must not.

After some time of this – a decade, perhaps? A century? - Olórin came to speak with her in person.

He talked of dragons and dwarves and horse-lords, but she did not hear him, not truly. She sat and nodded as he spoke, and when he asked her what she thought would best be done, she merely shook her head.

He gave her a look. It was probably a worried one. "My friend..." He said. "You need help. Assistance."

She wanted to laugh, hysterically.

"Lord Olórin," she said hollowly, "would have been able to help me."

He merely sighed. "Yes," he said, "but then, I am not him."

He departed, then. Had she offended him? She could not tell.

She sunk back into her nightmares.

Some other, indeterminable time later, Feliel came.

Galadriel did not remember what she said. She offered to help, probably. She mentioned how Galadriel had helped her some centuries ago. Galadriel only sat, silent, until Feliel left again.

Birik and his wife tried, then, and Tugu, whose method of nearly shouting at her was at least new. It at least registered.

It did not help.

Banja came as the last of them.

"Forgive me, my lady," she said. "I know I hardly know you and that this is deeply personal pain, but...my wife is worried about you.

Galadriel only nodded.

"I would help, in any way I could," Banja said.

And she did help, a little.

She was a talented healer, Galadriel seemed to remember, and in her presence, all the burdens seemed a little lighter, a little more distant, as if there was a veil over them. It gave Galadriel a little time to breathe, at least, until the darkness descended again.

One day when Banja came to her, instead of sitting down, she took her arm and led her to the edge of the forest.

Galadriel gave her a mildly questioning look.

"Someone wishes to meet you," Banja said simply.

Galadriel walked on, disinterested. Whom she saw just beyond her borders gave her a pause, however.

"What are you doing here?" She demanded – or it would have been a demand had there been enough force behind it.

"Your friend the Grey Wanderer told me to come," Macalaurë replied.

"Why?" She asked blankly.

"It seems, from what he says, that you are fighting with some degree of guilt."

She only laughed.

"For some reason," Macalaurë continued, "he thought it could be a field I am an expert in."

"Was that not more your brother's provenance?" Galadriel asked, her archness with a bitter tinge. She was aware, ina distant sort of way, that she was being cruel, but it seemed impossible to do anything about it.

"It was," he replied simply, unperturbed. "I learned from the master."

There was a silence.

"What happened?" He asked then, insistent, still simply standing before her.

"The _Grey Wanderer_ did not tell you that?" She was sharp, pointed, she knew. It seemed appropriate.

"He told me your daughter was attacked and tortured, and had to sail," Macalaurë replied. Galadriel flinched, at hearing it so bluntly spoken of, and looked away from him. "What I do not understand," he went on, "is why you feel guilt for that. Grief would be expected. But guilt?"

Galadriel shrugged, still looking over his shoulder. She was not going to tell him her darkest secret. They had never been close friends, and until recently, she had not seen him for thousands of years.

He smirked, of all things. "What," he said, "you believe that your crime is so terrible it cannot be spoken of? How many people have you murdered, dear cousin?"

"More than you," she replied. "More died because of me than because of you."

"This again?" He asked, mocking. "Truly? Did you plunge a sword into their hearts? Did you cut off their head? Did you watch them bleed out on the white sand?"

It was his voice that had a cruel tilt to it now, and she could not bear it. "Stop," she whispered, closing her eyes, seeing the images on the inside of her eyelids, seeing Celebrían in Brannor's place or by Brannor's side on the shore of New Havens.

"Then do not say that you murdered people," he replied in a hard voice that bore into her. "You do not know what that is like, to kill an elf. You do not understand the horror, the change it wreaks in you."

She shook her head, her eyes still closed, balancing on the edge of despair. "Is there truly such difference? If my daughter was captured because of me, is it not as if I myself plunged the knives into her?"

"So you set up the trap, then?" He continued prodding, provoking. "You drew her out into the mountains and arranged it with the orcs that they meet her there?"

"It is because of me that she could be captured at all!" Galadriel shouted, finally looking at him again.

"So you set the trap after all," he said archly.

"I made her weak," Galadriel replied, quietly this time, willing him to understand with her look. "My selfishness made her weak, and she paid the highest price for it."

He frowned. "What are you talking about?"

And so Galadriel, lacking the will to resist, crubmled to the ground where she stood and told him.

When she finished the story, he laughed, of all things.

"My father," he said when he stopped, "dragged all seven of his sons into an oath that destroyed their lives and made them murderers, never feeling an ounce of guilt for it, as far as I can tell. You are destroyed by guilt because you refused to give yourself up like my grandmother. Forgive me if I find that deeply amusing, in the darkest, bitterest way."

"I could never have done what your grandmother did," Galadriel replied, looking up at him. "But I could have done more."

He only shook his head. "Have you forgotten all the evil my grandmother's choice led to?"

"Do not tell me you blame her," Galadriel said with a tinge of irritation.

"No. But I do believe her story is a warning. Self-sacrifice is not, always, the best path to follow."

"There is a large enough space between giving all and giving nothing," the Nolde pointed out.

"Had you given nothing, Celebrían would have died in your womb," Macalaurë replied harshly.

Galadriel winced. "Still, I could have..."

He shrugged. "Yes, you could have probably done more. But do you not see how laughable it is to me that you would think that comparable to my crimes?"

"She is my own daughter," Galadriel insisted.

"And we are our father's own sons. Many of the Teleri of Alqualondë were my friends, or at least acquaintances. I knew you and Celeborn dwelt in Doriath, and in the Havens, there were so many...Artanáro, Itarillë's grandchildren..."

"None of them your own blood."

"Are you determined to make yourself the worst criminal of all?" He crouched in front of her to look directly and intently into her eyes. "Unless you would have plunged your sword into Celebrían yourself, I will always only laugh at you."

She could only hold his gaze for a short moment before looking away. She sighed, resigned and too tired to argue. "You may well be right, but it does not really matter. It does not matter what I think about it. Celeborn knows – he saw my memories – and he blames me."

Macalaurë raised his eyebrows. "Does he?"

"He has not spoken to me, not like husband to wife, since he found out."

"And have you spoken to him?"

Galadriel only looked at him blankly.

"I have lived with my guilt for millennia now," he said, "and I know that the only way to survive is not to get engulfed. It will never go away, but you must not drown."

She scoffed. "This is not a very useful advice. If you told someone thrown into the sea that they must not drown, they would hardly be thankful to you."

"No," he agreed, "but that is not what I am telling you. I am telling you to take the help you need to get out of the water."

"Did you?" She asked pointedly.

"After a time," he replied, "and enough of it that I can survive." He smiled bitterly. "Of course, I have a very compelling reason not to wish to fade. The thought of encountering my father again keeps me firmly grounded in this world."

Galadriel's mind was finally clear enough that she could remember, and she said: "I have a good enough reason too. I must not fade until this war is over. I promised I would see Sauron undone, and I will."

He nodded. "Then take the help that is offered. I hesitate to treat your guilt like mine, so absurd it seems, but if it is anything like it...it cannot be managed entirely alone." He nodded towards the forest behind her. "I cannot enter that realm," he said. "But go in and talk to Celeborn."

"He will not speak to me."

"Then talk to someone else, first. But do."

Reluctantly, hesitantly, she nodded. He rose and offered his hand, and she took it, standing up.

He turned to leave, but paused and added: "Remember that Celeborn was able to accept my brother and me, back in the First Age at your wedding, when the news of the Fist Kinslaying was still fresh to him. I would be very much surprised if he could not forgive you."

With those words, he departed, and Galadriel looked after him for a moment before she, too, turned towards home.

She found out that he had been right about Celeborn soon enough. When she returned to Caras Galadhon, her husband was waiting for her in their flet.

"I spoke to Lord Círdan," he said hesitatingly instead of a welcome. "Mithrandir told him to come."

It seemed that her friend had been very active indeed.

"I..." he trailed off. "Why did you not tell me?" He asked at length.

She only stared at him.

"You berated me, once," he remembered, "that marriage was about openness and that I kept the true state of affairs of the Select in Doriath from you. But what you kept from me..."

"What should I have said?" Galadriel asked. "How could I have told you? You had dreamed about a child for over a millennium at that point, Celeborn. Should I just have come to you and told you I wished to kill it?"

He flinched. "No," he replied. "But you could have talked about how it drained you. I...even if I know, in theory, that this is what happens in pregnancy, it is very different from realizing the actual enormity of the matter. You could have shared your feelings, your mind, with me."

"I didn't wish to hurt you."

"But you did."

Galadriel acknowledged it with a nod. "I'm sorry," she said, her words hollow for their inadequacy.

"I'm sorry you didn't feel you could tell me, not even after centuries," he offered in turn.

She shook her head vehemently. "Please don't feel any guilt for that. These were my choices, all of them. You bear no responsibility."

"But I do," he insisted. "As I said, we're married. That means something. I know you're not inclined to keeping secrets from me, or had not been until then, at least. Your shared the worst of yourself with me when we barely knew each other. I must have made you feel like you couldn't trust me with what you felt in pregnancy."

Galadriel thought of Macalurë, and of her fears for Arwen. She should tell Celeborn, she knew. He was right. There should be no more secrets between them, if there was any hope of rapairing the breach. But with them both so wholly engulfed in grief and despair, she could not. It was unthinkable.

"I'm sorry," she said instead, "for pushing you away after..." she swallowed. "After Celebrían was attacked. That was cruel of me."

"And it was cruel of me to judge you so harshly for what you showed me," he returned. "But it was..." he shook his head. "I was...beyond any measure of control."

She only nodded, and then, tentatively, looked at him an extended her hands towards him.

He took them, and stepped into her arms.

And from then on, they grieved together.


	91. Waking

**Chapter 91: Waking**

 _Year 2770 of the Third Age, Lothlórien_

Galadriel was reclining in a settee in the central flet, gazing down upon the fountain, contemplating how its silver light reminded her of Celebrían's hair and thinking about whether her daughter was comfortable in the West, whether she had been welcomed by Mírdan and whether she had made any close ties there, when she saw the messenger approach the ladder to her flet at a run.

She gave a soft sigh and straightened. She wondered what the trouble was this time. Lately, it was usually some petty war among Men. Galadriel wondered why it was that there were so many these days. Her gaze drifted back to the fountain. Perhaps the Mirror could give her the answer? But it could also show her many things she did not wish to know, and so she shook her head at the idea and instead stood to welcome the messenger.

„My lady," he said when he stepped upon the flet, breathing hard after climbing the ladder quickly, „a dragon has attacked Erebor!"

„What?" She stared at the elf in front of her for a moment before shaking her head to clear it. She had not expected that. It was an unwelcome reminder that petty warring Men were not the only danger of this world, and that not all of the threats would lie dormant for ever.

„Get Celeborn," she said, „and send another messenger to Thranduil immediately, asking for details."

He merely nodded and disappeared down the ladder again. When he was gone, Galadriel sat back down heavily, staring off into the distance. Another dragon attack, and, almost certainly, another dwarven kingdom fallen. It was too, too similar to what had happened a millennium ago, and she could only hope that the balrog, at least, would stay dormant.

But then, the balrog was not the biggest worry, was it?

Almost fearfully, she sent her mind out to Amon Lanc. She had been doing so regularly, just casual checks to make certain the Necromancer was still there and had not grown in strength surprisingly fast, but now she took care to really look, to examine in detail. She did not like what she saw at all.

Why, why had she paid so little attention lately?

She knew why, of course, but still it was strange – the last few decades, she had thought she was back to doing her work, taking care of her responsibilities. But now, suddenly, she saw all that she had been neglecting.

Galadriel frowned, and her mind turned to Elrond and Olórin with the kind of sharp purpose she had not had for centuries as she relayed the news of the dragon. _It would be best if you went there in person, my friend_ , she said to the wizard. _Thranduil will be unwilling to tell us anything, as ever._

 _Should we call the council?_ Elrond asked, his mental voice sounding vaguely worried.

 _Not unless we know it is moving beyond the Lonely Mountain,_ Galadriel replied _. We do not have the strength to attack it with any certainty of result, and it is too late to save the dwarven kingdom. If it does not attack further, it would be a great risk, and so we can all imagine what Thranduil or Curunír would say. I would much rather do without having to actually hear it._

 _I will go t_ _o the Lonely Mountain to find out more_ , Olórin assured her, _but I am far in the south now, and it will take me time to arrive._

 _We will be waiting impatiently for your news._

The consultation was ended and, shortly afterwards, Celeborn entered the flet. "I heard the news," he said. "What do you think is required?"

Galadriel shook her head. "As regards the dragon, probably not much – I find it unlikely he would go further. It was gold that attracted him to the Lonely Mountain, almost certainly. But...it has made me wake up. The evil is growing everywhere, and we can no longer sit in silence. I have done so too much already."

"We had every right to grieve," he reassured her softly. "There are others in this world who can take the mantle from us when we need time to...get used to the wounds. Accept the new reality."

"There are only two others I trust, and Elrond was hit with grief as much as we were," Galadriel replied. "But what is done is done. However, we have to act now. We have to get ready for war in earnest."

"Do you believe it will come?" He asked, worried and a little surprised.

"I hope not," she replied, "but I would not rely on that hope. It has been a quarter of a century since our daughter was attacked almost at our doorstep. We have done little to increase the safety of the mountain passes since then, so it is almost certain the mountain are teeming with orcs by now. The shadow in Mirkwood, too, continues unchecked, and it was not precisely weak even when it returned from hiding. If it should join forces with the orcs, and with the warring Men in the south, and possibly with the dragon to the north...woe would befall us all very soon."

"Can it join forces, though? Is the consciousness clear enough to be able to do something of the sort?"

Galadriel sent her mind out to probe once again, staying silent.

"It might be," she said then. "Yes, it just might be becoming strong enough that it could effectively organize its allies. We need to act." She considered all that was before her, all that needed to be done. "I believe," she said, frowning, "that all the remaining Noldor should move from the mountains into the protection of the forest. They will not like it, but it will stop being safe there soon enough – even now, they kill an orc scout every other night. It will get worse. All of our people should retreat within the protection of Nenya."

"Within your protection, you mean," he corrected softly. "It is not just the ring that does it, and you know it."

"Very well then, within my protection. I will go tell them. Those who cannot tolerate the idea of living in a forest can relocate to Rivendell, they would be safe there and Elrond would accept them."

"I will arrange for flets and houses for the rest," Celeborn agreed, and they parted ways.

Galadriel's first steps led to Feliel, who received the news calmly.

"I have been waiting for you to make this decision for some time, my lady," she admitted. "There are only a few families left in the Noldorin city now, and it was getting difficult to maintain its protection."

The guilt was almost immediate. "You could have made the decision without me," Galadriel told her long-time colleague.

"I do not quite have the authority to convince those who hesitate."

That made Galadriel feel even worse. "Then you could have come to me..."

Feliel shook her head. "All is well, my lady," she said. "It was not pressing. And the news of the dragon will lend your decision additional weight, making the argument more persuasive."

"You have heard, then?"

Feliel only nodded gravely. "Banja is...worried."

Galadriel frowned, confused. "Why? Why Banja, in particular?"

"If one dragon moves, can others not do the same? She fears for Magrandoro."

"There are not that many dragons left...and if the rumours we heard are true, they dealt with the dragon that attacked them before quite successfully."

"Yes – but still she worries. I believe that she will always regard it as her true home, in some ways."

Galadriel hesitated. "Does that – pain you?"

Feliel shook her head. "Only in that I would like to see it one day, and it is unlikely I will have the opportunity. Otherwise, I am not jealous. Her love for me is not less because she misses a place where she once lived."

Galadriel only nodded. She knew how true this was, after all – she missed Aman and Hithlum when she married Celeborn, and yet she did not love him less for it. Some sacrifices one might consider worth it, though still regret that they were necessary.

Some others, on the other hand, one would much rather avoid altogether.

Olórin came to Lothlórien some months later, stopping there on his way to Mirkwood.

"I hope you learn much, and some of it are good news," Galadriel told him, "But after you come back, we have to start thinking about Sauron again. We have left him in peace too long, and now I fear it might not be as easy to capture him as it once would have been."

Olórin looked at her intently. "I am glad to see you are healed, my friend," he said.

She laughed harshly. "You know there is no healing such wounds, only getting used to them."

"That is what I mean by healing, yes. With habit, the pain becomes less sharp."

"Or rather, you learn to ignore it." She sighed. "But yes, I am better, thank you." Celeborn had been very understanding in the end, after they finally talked openly, and in comforting each other, they had found a path towards a kind of peace.

It had taken a long time, but Galadriel could finally see something beyond darkness. Perhaps not light, but at least the grim, grey lines of responsibility.

"Do you have any plans regarding the Necromancer?" Olórin asked.

She shook her head. "If you can find out some more details on your way to Thranduil, I would appreciate it," she said. "Meanwhile, I will try to glimpse as much as I can from his mind. I confess I am beginning to worry whether the different manifestations of evil around us are not interconnected."

"They could be," he agreed. "I will do my best to discover the truth."

He left again, and in the time he was gone, Galadriel occupied herself by contacting Elrond and sharing her worries, hopes and plans with him.

Now that she had woken from the daze she had been in, she could see, plainly enough, that he had not done so yet. Not even the news of the dragon had roused him. After a long and rather pointless conversation, Galadriel, feeling tired, said: "Will you send your daughter to me, to spend some time here?"

That finally properly caught his attention.

In fact, it might have been the first time Elrond ever spoke sharply and disrespectfully to her in her life.

Galadriel was not angry...but she was worried.

After some hesitation, she searched out Celeborn again and they arranged for him to go to Rivendell. He could hardly console Elrond, but he could ask Arwen about her father a least, and could bring news back to Galadriel. With some luck, he would also catch Elladan and Elrohir and try to ascertain their state of mind as well. Yes, it was high time Galadriel took some interest in matters once again.

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Olórin's news about the dragon were not very good after all. It was Smaug, a dragon that would not have been considered quite small even in the First Age, and now was the greatest to be found in Middle-Earth. The city of Dale was destroyed, and the dragon now lived in the Lonely Mountain, guarding its treasure. "He has no intention to leave it at the moment," Olórin said, "but it cannot be guaranteed in the future."

The situation with the Necromancer was not particularly cheerful either. "I will have to go to Amon Lanc – or Dol Guldur, as they call it now – again, to bring the proof Curunír will require to allow us to move," Olórin pointed out.

"It is not safe any more," Galadriel replied sharply.

"Do not underestimate me, my friend," he said with a smile. "Nevertheless, you are correct that I should prepare myself somewhat for such a trip, and I will not go immediately. But go I will."

She frowned. "How long do you plan to wait?"

"I cannot know in advance. I need to prepare, and there are also things I need to take care of before I go, in case you are right and the Necromancer proves to be too much for me."

"Then you agree it is not safe?"

"It it truly is Sauron, can it ever be safe?"

Galadriel gave a frustrated sigh. "Two hundred years ago-" she began.

Olórin gave her a chiding look from under the brim of his hat. "If there is one thing you should never feel guilty about, it is taking the time to grieve."

"I have responsibilities," she insisted.

"And because you have responsibilities, you did not sail. That is enough of a sacrifice."

Galadriel refrained from commenting on that, though the mention hurt, now more than before. She only said: "It would be easier to believe you if you still spoke with the authority of one of the lords of Maiar."

This time, it was he who did not comment, but Galadriel saw something in his eyes and her hand shot out to hold his, drawing his gaze to her. "Do I...hurt you when I say that, my friend?" She asked.

"Yes," he admitted after a moment. "In your presence, I sometimes feel that I am merely a shadow of a past self I never knew. It is not a pleasant feeling."

Galadriel closed her eyes. "Forgive me," she said. "I hope you do not feel that I do not value your friendship. I have known you for longer, now, than I had known Lord Olórin in Aman. As much as I hesitate to say it, our friendship is more equal, and therefore more real in some ways. But it also means that while I value your opinion and advice very highly, you do not quite have the sacred authority to me you did as Lord Olórin. From him, I could have received absolution. From you, I cannot."

He pressed the hand that was holding this. "Thank you for these kind words," he said. "It makes it easier to accept my own shortcomings, when compared to who I used to be. Certainly if it gives me closer friendship to you, that makes it suddenly much more worthwhile."

She smiled. "You will make me blush with such compliments."

He laughed in turn. "That would be a first." Then, he grew serious again. "I will head to Rivendell now, to inform Elrond of the development in person," he said. "I admit that I worry about him."

"So do I," Galadriel agreed. "I sent Celeborn to speak to Arwen, and I hope he will bring me some news."

He did, upon his return only a few weeks later. They were not particularly good either.

"Elrond is...well, he's surviving. Arwen is keeping him afloat, but she suffered a loss too, and it's beginning to wear on her. She needs to rest, to heal, too. And he needs to make another step on his path to recovery."

"Would that I could go to him," Galadriel said with a sigh, "or he to me. But it's impossible at this time, with the Necromancer so strong. I'll have to get Arwen here."

"He'll never agree," Celeborn said resolutely. "He was still angry with you for even proposing it when I was there."

"He'll agree if I impress upon him that he's risking her health by keeping her there," Galadriel replied.

Celeborn considered that. "He might," he agreed, "but...while that'll help Arwen, are you certain it won't kill him?"

That was, of course, Galadriel's greatest worry. She did not think she could survive if it happened. "He needs a shock, something to wake him from the daze of grief, like I was woken," she only replied. "It seems happenings in the world won't do it, so something nearer to him has to change. I can't think of anythign else that has any hope of success."

"Isn't it a risk?" Celeborn asked worriedly. "Would it not be safer, for him to stay in the state he's in?"

Galadriel shook her head. "If the war comes, he needs to be able to plan with a clear mind. And besides...Arwen might not stay by his side for ever. He needs to lean on himself again."

Celeborn frowned. "Do you know something?"

Galadriel took a deep breath. This explanation, she knew, wa slong overdue. "I only have...fears," she said. "Do you remember the vision I had when Elrodn and Celebrían married, and then again when Arwen was born?"

"Of the King of Men being crowned? Yes."

"It occurred to me...what if it's because the king'll be tied to Arwen by the Flame?"

Celeborn grew pale. "Do you have any concrete basis for that fear?"

"Arwen complains of loneliness, of a sense of incompleteness...and I believe she had a hint of a premonition that she should not sail yet. That is all."

Celeborn exhaled, looking relieved. "That might concern love for anyone. It doesn't have to be the Man. No, Arwen is too elven. I'll not believe she could chose the fate of the Second born."

"You're right she is very elven – that's one of the reasons this worries me so." Galadriel gave a heavy sigh. "How are Elladan and Elrohir?"

"Burning with a desire for revenge...but they are channelling it productively at least, and I believe I did manage to give them some relief when we talked, and some hope."

"Then we will have them stand by their father when Arwen comes here. A break from fighting, from pursuing violence, will do them good as well, and it might make the difference in how Elrond fares. After all, they are focus much more outward than Arwen is. They might help to turn his mind outwards as well."

"They might," Celeborn said, though she could hear the doubt in his voice.

Galadriel was not thrilled with this plan either. In fact, she was almost paralyzed with fear. But something needed to be done, she knew that much, and something needed to be done soon. This was the best she had in store.

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It took a long time to convince Elrond.

Years of soft prods and hints, and then retreats when his anger was roused. He had never seemed this much like a Noldo to Galadriel as in these days, when she danced this careful dance with him. His feelings were stripped bare, and the layers of control that kept his fire banked his whole life were uncovered now, and stoked by her requests.

It was the only way Galadriel could see to help him from a distance, but it was hard. And not only for the pain she could see in him. The things he said to her...most days after she spoke to him, she ended up weeping in Celeborn's arms, and somewhere in the back of her mind she worried that Celeborn would grow to hate Elrond for it. But still, there was nothing to be done.

"Oh, have her travel to you then!" The half-elf said at length one day. "If you can bear the cost of your selfishness if she pays for it with her life or sanity, then by all means, let us have Arwen ride across the mountains! I thought you cared for her, at least, a little more than you cared for your daughter!"

Galadriel gritted her teeth against the pain and began to arrange for Arwen's arrival.

Lord Laurefindil came at the head of the large entourage, as was expected, and the look he gave Galadriel upon his arrival was almost unfriendly. Elrond was not well, then. That was to be expected. She would have liked to speak to the lord and ask for details, but her granddaughter took priority.

And she was not well either.

"I do not understand why father made me come here," she said, clearly on the edge of despair. "He needs me!"

"Is it such chore to come and see me?" Galadriel asked softly.

"No, of course not, but...he needs me!"

"Tell me how he is, then," Galadriel said, judging it was the best place to begin.

And Arwen did, and as she spoke of Elrond, the tale of her last quarter of a century came out as well, years spent almost entirely by her father's side, enveloped in his grief, having no time for her own as she worked tirelessly to support him.

"And do you miss your mother, beloved?" Galadriel asked at length.

"I...of course I do, she was my mother, but...she was not to me what she was to Father or my brothers, so my pain is not as raw as theirs...if only I could be sure I will see her in Aman after this war ends, it would all be well, truly, it is only the small chance of choosing the fate of Men that makes me...that makes me..."

And then Arwen was weeping in Galadriel's embrace, large shuddering sobs shaking her frame, and Galadriel just held her, caressing her back and staring up, through the canopy of mellyrn, to Ardamírë in the sky with his silmaril. _I am sorry_ , she told him, _for_ _putting_ _your children through such hardships._ _I am sorry for not being able to help them better._

She felt a vague answer of support from him, and smiled a sad smile.

When finally, after hours, the worst of Arwen's grief exhausted itself, she fell into a much needed sleep and Galadriel carried her to her flet. She would wait till the next day for any kind of talk.

She was surprised when Arwen found her, early in the morning, but smiled at her granddaughter.

"I expected you to sleep in," she said.

"I was impatient to talk to you," Arwen replied. "I believe I understand, now, why Father sent me here, but I still worry about him and believe I should not stay long."

"I agree," Galadriel replied, "but, beloved, you need a month of rest here at the very least. If it was not for your father, I would insist on a year. If you are to be of any use to him, you cannot be entirely exhausted yourself."

Arwen hesitated, but then nodded, and sat on one of the spare chairs in Galadriel's office, so Galadriel put away her work and walked around her table to be nearer to her granddaughter.

"Was what you said yesterday accurate?" She asked, sitting down next to Arwen and trying to keep her voice neutral. "Are you truly more grieved by your mother's departure because you are considering being judged with Men?"

Arwen shook her head. "Nothing as strong as that," she replied. "It is only...after Mother sailed, I remember thinking that it was final now, without question I would have to take the fate of Elves and go West one day. I had never even considered not doing so for one moment of my life, but the moment I thought it, it suddenly made me feel anxious. As if there was something wrong about that decision. And yet the death of Men still holds no attraction to me at all. I...do not fully understand, but it is confusing me."

Galadriel hid her fears and despair at these observations and merely said: "You do not have to choose just yet, at least. There is no reason to worry about it until it becomes clearer in your mind." She hesitated. "Do you...know your brothers' intention in this?"

Arwen smiled bitterly. "Who knows what Elladan and Elrohir feel? Ever since mother left, they have been riding with the Rangers of Men and hunting orcs. They are hardly ever at home. The company they keep would make me feel that they consider choosing the fate of the Second born very seriously, but then I am not sure if it is not only because there are no elven groups that follow this kind of life."

Galadriel sighed. "We all have our own ways of coping," she said.

"I know, but...it worries father, as much as he has any room left to worry about things, and the more I think about it, the more I believe they should have sailed with mother."

"It is difficult to say. It would be better for their troubled souls, but apart from that, they truly are not ready."

"Well, troubled soul is why Mother sailed in the first place, is it not? And they were always more her children than I ever was. I miss her terribly, but for them, it must be unbearable."

Galadriel could not find the strength to answer that, and Arwen pressed her hand. "At least it is not like that for you," she said. "You know you will see Mother again."

Galadriel closed her eyes. She did not wish to tell her granddaughter the truth, and yet she could not pretend to have hope in such a moment. And the heaviness of the punishment was like a weight pulling her down these days, never far from her mind. "I will not," she replied, very quietly. "Or at least, not for thousands of years."

Arwen looked startled. "What do you mean?"

"I am banned from returning West," she replied, looking into distance.

"But...why?" The shock and astonishment in her voice was evident, even if Galadriel did not have the courage to look her granddaughter in the face.

"The Doom of the Noldor, remember?"

"But they...we...you were allowed to come back, I know you were, you told me so yourself!" Arwen protested.

"The majority was, yes."

"So why not you?"

"Such is the privilege of being one of the highest nobility," she replied, and then she smiled bitterly. "So you do not have to worry," she said. "If you choose mortality, you will at least know that I will stay with you until the end of your days."

Instead of replying, Arwen embraced her.

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	92. Intervention

**Chapter 92: Intervention**

 _Year 2845 of the Third Age, Lothlórien_

Arwen made a number of other trips to Lothlórien in the following decades. It put much strain on Rivendell's resources to provide her with sufficient retinue every time, but there was nothing to be done. It was needed. It was needed for Arwen, for the one short visit was not enough to heal the wounds on her soul, but even more, perhaps, it was needed for Elrond. Galadriel needed to hear how he did, in detail, and he needed to spend some time without the daughter he had learned to rely on so much.

Throughout these visits, Galadriel mapped his progress towards some sort of peace, however fragile.

It was slow.

When Arwen had returned to Rivendell the first time, she felt – she later told Galadriel – like her father had taken an almost fatal turn for the worse. But sometimes, wounds had to be torn open to close properly, so in a few years they tried again, and it was better. And then again, and again.

Finally, decades after the initial visit, Elrond contacted Galadriel of his own volition and said: _I am sorry._

 _For what?_ Galadriel asked, confused. _What happened?_

 _For leaving you alone with all the burdens of Middle-Earth for so long_ , he replied. _And for all the terrible, terrible things I have said to you over the recent years._

Galadriel gave a long exhale, almost overwhelmed by relief. _The things you said I have already forgotten,_ she assured him. _As for the other matter, y_ _ou did not leave me alone_. _I have Celeborn and Mithrandir._ _And I was lost in my grief a long time as well. There is nothing to apologize for._

 _I have responsibilities,_ he said.

Galadriel laughed, a little bitter but more relieved still. _Do you know I said precisely the same thing when Mithrandir assured me I had every right to grieve? We truly do speak too much, beloved, if we are becoming so like each other._

 _I would be honoured if I could ever think I was like you._

She shuddered. _Please do not say that._

He did not press the matter. _Whether I had the right or not, I have left you alone_ _with our duties_ _for a long time,_ he said instead. _Tell me, what can I do to help?_

She considered. _Chiefly, take care that you are_ as _well as you can be,_ she replied. _I am now mostly waiting on Mithrandir – he promised me he would go to Dol Guldur and bring a proof we could use to convince Curunír it is Sauron who hides there, but that was almost a century ago. I am not certain where he is or what he does at the moment._

Elrond seemed surprised by that. _He passed this way not too long ago. If I see him, I will certainly let him know you are waiting for him impatiently. Is it certain the Necromancer is Sauron now, then?_

 _More and more certain every day. His consciousness has become very clear._

 _We should hurry, then._

 _Yes. Before he moves to Mordor and beyond our reach._

There was a short silence.

 _How...how are you?_ Galadriel asked then, and if she had been speaking aloud, her voice would have been breaking.

 _You know how I am,_ he replied, even his mental voice sounding tired. _You can see my mind._

 _Yes, but…_

 _I know._ He hesitated _. It is not- it is too reminiscent of those terrible years after Elros died. What you were to me then, in support, Arwen was to me now._

 _I am sorry I could not be there for you again._

 _It is hardly your fault, just as it is hardly your fault that you could not take me on a tour around the world to distract me this time._

Galadriel smiled at the memory, even though, as all her memories, it was tinged with pain, the pain of Hollin, until recently the biggest wound on her weary soul. _Where would we go, if we could go at this time?_ She asked.

Elrond seemed to consider. _I do not know. I am inclined to say Grey Havens, and yet – that would hardly help. I fear I would have to leave it up to you again._

If Galadriel went to the Havens, she doubted she would be able to leave the Sea again. She tried not to think about that. _I believe I would take you East,_ she said instead. _We would take Tugu as a guide – Hana, too, if she was willing to go, and Birik – and we would explore the lands of the lost clans of elves. We would find Nore and Magrandoro._

 _Are you certain you could find Nore?_ He asked, amused. _From what you have told me…_

 _Are you doubting my abilities, beloved?_ She asked him archly, and he gave a small chuckle that warmed her heart more than anything had in a long time.

 _I would love to go on such a trip with you, Aunt,_ he said then, wistfully. _Perhaps after Sauron is dealt with?_

 _Perhaps,_ she replied, though she did not believe he would be travelling anywhere after the war – if a war was to come – was over. Not anywhere beside the Havens, and then the long journey West.

He caught the thought in her mind. _Yes,_ he said, melancholy. _There is no doubt of my sailing, now. I will be bitterly sorry to leave you here, Aunt. As much as life without Celebrían is painful and I would not wish to hesitate in following her as soon as I can...I have never been without you. I cannot imagine my life without your presence in it._

She gave a sad smile. _You said something like that when I was leaving for_ _H_ _ollin, did you not? And yet you survived, and blossomed._

 _It was different. Yes, there were times – with Sauron in your realm and then during the war – that we saw each other only rarely, but still...it was different._

Galadriel knew it was. If nothing else, it was for a much shorter time than what she expected would be their period of separation after he sailed. But she did not wish to mar his healing by these observations, so she merely said. _But you will blo_ _ssom_ _this time too, all the same._

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It took Olórin several more years, for which Sauron grew stronger still, to go to Dol Guldur. Galadriel was even more worried now. She could see Sauron's mind properly at this point, his consciousness returned, and no doubt about his identity remained – or about his cruel intentions.

"I confess it was not wise to wait so long," Olórin replied to her recriminations when he finally came to Lothlórien in preparation for the task, "but an urgent matter held me in Eriador. I came as soon as I could."

Galadriel did not want to imagine what took priority over Sauron, and attempted not to be offended that he did not wish to tell her.

Especially as, ever since the last time he was in Lothlórien, her own conscience had been troubling her about her own secrets.

In truth, when he first came from the West, she thought he knew she was banned from returning there. It seemed natural at the time. But since then she had come to understand his knowledge, or lack thereof, better, and she realized that he did not, in fact, know. But still she had been pretending to herself, until he directly mentioned his belief that she did not sail as a sacrifice to her duty.

Keeping secrets from him was bad enough – she had even told Arwen about this, her granddaughter who was, as a rule, not privy to her most personal thoughts - , but the idea that he counted something as her virtue that was, in reality, her weakness, was intolerable.

So even though it would perhaps be wiser not to disturb and distract him right now, Galadriel could not bear the idea that he would be captured or killed in Dol Guldur and she would never again find the opportunity to be honest with him, to correct this overly idealizing belief.

And thus, when there were just a few days left before his planned journey, she took him aside to speak in privacy.

"There is, I fear, a misconception you have about me, my friend," she told him as they walked side by side in the forest.

"And what would that be?" He asked with friendly curiosity that almost hurt, given what she meant to tell him.

She steeled herself. "You indicated that you believe I do not sail out of duty," she said.

He gave her a surprised look. "I apologize if I assumed too much – of course there are many ties that are still keeping you here beside that."

She shook her head. "That is not the nature of the misconception," she replied. "If it was not for my duty, I would sail in a heartbeat, even though I would miss my grandchildren, who are still not ready to go. Yet my duty is not the chief reason I stay."

He frowned. "What is, then?"

"I am banned from returning West."

She could see his bushy eyebrows climbing up his forehead out of the corner of her eye. "Banned? By whom?"

She chuckled, bitter. "Whom do you think?"

"Forgive me, I know I do not remember my past in the West, but – from what I know, both from you and from my memories, that seems strange to me. Did the Valar not grant forgiveness to all who begged it?"

He asked much like Arwen had, but to him, she gave a different, more honest answer. "Perhaps the problem is in the begging."

His frown deepened. "From what you have told me of your youth, I would perhaps believe you to be too proud to do so then, but not now. Not if you truly wanted to return."

"It goes deeper than that," she explained. "I was one of the chief supporters of departure, and so the Valar do not allow me to return until I regret I ever left. And I will never regret that."

He kept frowning, but did not say anything for a long time. "It...pains you, does it not?" He asked then.

"It does," she confirmed. "More and more as time passes, and since Celebrían sailed...it is becoming almost unbearable."

"So you are not better, then?" He querried quietly.

She sighed and looked up at the canopy of golden mellyrn leaves for a moment. "I am in some ways," she said then. "More...able to work, to do what is required of me, I suppose. But since her departure, every year feels like a heavy burden to bear, reminding me that I am here and she is there, where so many of my loved ones dwell. Our fates are a twisted mockery of each other's, do you not see? She wished to stay here with her husband and children, with everyone she loves, and she is there. I wish to be there, with her and so many of my loved ones, so many dear friends. Instead I am kept here. Macalaurë told me once that we were both too strong to fade. Even then I opposed him, but it was chiefly based on something you told me after you came here. But now I can feel it in myself. After Sauron is done with, one way or another, I will begin to fade."

"And you first believed this based on something I said?" He asked her, clearly surprised.

"Yes. You spoke of me forsaking these shores," she remembered.

He considered. "Do you not see hope in that that you could sail after all?"

She shook her head. "I know in my heart that I will never regret ever leaving Aman, in spite of everything. And that means I cannot sail."

He gave a deep sigh. "There still seems something wrong about it to me," he said.

"You are not the only one – almost all I have told this truth to insisted the Valar would not be this harsh. Yet it is the truth. Lady Ilmarë came to tell me herself."

"I will consider it," he promised. "But perhaps not now. These thoughts are too dark and grave for the matter I am to attempt."

Galadriel had to agree, and she did her best to steer the conversation to better waters afterwards, and keep it on brighter things in the following days.

Then, the time for his mission arrived. Once again, she followed him in mind as he headed to Mirkwood, and saw that there was no danger of the Shadow fleeing from him this time. He saw it, too, and went in stealth instead of force, moving unseen among the dark creatures that surrounded it and deep into the dungeons of Dol Guldur to witness all of its horror. Galadriel, unflinching, witnessed it with him.

She saw violence and death, and had to force herself not to think of Celebrían and her fate. There were bodies everywhere, barely alive and also left dead and rotting in their cells. There were orcs and spiders, but also other dark creatures the likes of which Galadriel had never seen, and she wondered whether it was an attempt by Sauron to create some new monsters for his service.

She knew she was spared the worst, for the pressure of darkness that Olórin would be experiencing she felt only indirectly. Still, it made her think too uncomfortably of the Tol-in-Glaurhoth. There were too many similarities. She saw Thráin being tortured and she saw him suffering in the aftermath, and she whispered suggestions and comfort as Olórin spoke to him, trying to ease his least moments, and then received something from him and held his hand as the dwarven king died.

She sensed that Olórin desperately wanted to go and find the ring Thrain said had been taken from him, and take it back as his proof for Curunír, but they both knew it would be too well guarded, and if he made the attempt, he would never get out alive.

Instead, he headed to deeper, but less carefully guarded corridors, slipped through doors left open, and at length came across something of use: other rings, these being lesser, gathered in this one place.

Galadriel's mind echoed his own surprise. They had expected the rings to be in mordor. That they had been carried here meant Sauron was organizing better than they had assumed.

The surprise made Olórin hesitate just a moment too long, and a commotion started beyodn the door, indicating the presence of an intruder was noticed.

He killed the three orcs rushing at him and he fled, pursuit on his heels as he used his light to keep them away, and Galadriel felt Sauron rage.

 _Come back here_ , she said once Olórin was clear of Dol Guldur. _You can notify Thranduil later._

He did not resist, knowing as well as she did that his mind needed healing from the terrible sights, and so he allowed himself a fortnight in Lothlórien as they sat together and planned.

"What did Thrain give you?" She asked. "It was too dark for me to see it properly in your mind, and his speech was confused. I only understood that it was meant for his son."

"I am not certain myself," he admitted, and took out the bundle from his robes, putting it on the table between them.

It was a map, and a key. Galadriel had no idea what they were, but Olórin, after studying them for a moment, gave a nod of understanding.

"What is it?" She asked him,

"A way to get inside the Lonely Mountain."

She tried to conceal her disappointment. "With Smaug still there, it will be of little use."

"Perhaps, but I will guard it carefully all the same."

He took out the other bundle he took from Dol Guldur – the lesser rings – and put them on the table as well.

"Will Curunír accept this as proof?" Galadriel asked.

"He must," Olórin replied. "It is generally known that all of the lesser rings were taken by Sauron. In fact, it was he in person who had impressed this upon the Council. It would be too suspicious if he doubted after this."

Galadriel shook her head. "I am not too certain. We have seen previously that he is not too bound by logic in the arguments he presents to the council. The power of his voice is great."

"We have to forewarn everyone in detail this time," Olórin agreed. "We need to be ready."

They did, especially as it was impossible at this time for either Elrond or Galadriel to be there in person. They would have to watch the proceedings in Olórin's mind, and while they trusted him to represent them faithfully, the weight of their arguments would be lessened in their absence. But there was no getting around it. With Sauron this strong, this near, Galadriel could not leave Lothlórien unprotected, and while Rivendell was safer, Elrond was not willing to take the risk for a council that, they all suspected, would prove to be inefficient.

In fact, even Celeborn was reluctant to go. "If these meetings are entirely pointless – and they always have been until now – then I don't rejoice at being distracted from my more important duties."

Galadriel sighed. "I know, my love, and I'm sorry you have to waste time with something that was my idea in the first place. You know I'd go if I could."

He shook his head. "That's not what I meant – I don't blame you in any way. I simply wonder whether we should not call the entire idea of the council off."

Galadriel sighed. "I worry what Thranduil's reaction would be. I can see no way to do that without at least partly revealing what was our purpose the whole time, and...Dol Guldur is still part of his land, at least technically. We cannot afford to antagonize him."

Celeborn sighed. "You're right, of course, as always. I'll go to Isengard, then, and listen to Curunír deny that sky is blue."

As it turned out, however, Curunír did not doubt the veracity of the lesser rings nor what they proved. His strategy in council was a different one. "So it is Sauron," he said, "but he is weak and unless he finds the ruling ring, he cannot become strong again. Note that he took residence in Dol Guldur, not in Mordor. He is strong enough to harass some forest animals, but no danger to us – excluding the forest realm, of course," he added with a bow towards Thranduil, "but perhaps that could be helped simply by assistance provided by warriors from other realms? Surely Lothlórien could spare some for your protection?"

Thranduil indignantly refused this suggestion, as Curunír knew well he would.

Galadriel whispered her thoughts to Olórin, and he spoke: "The Lady Galadriel wishes to ask: If he is weak, as you say, why not attack, then? We seem to have nothing to lose, and the peace of Mirkwood to gain."

"He is weak, yes, but still crafty," Curunír replied. "We could lose lives there, and unnecessarily so."

"The lady objects: would we not lose more if we waited until Sauron grows strong?"

"But he cannot, not without the ring," Curunír argued.

"The lady insists: He cannot grow as strong as he did last age, but he can grow strong enough. Even now he would have destroyed Mithrandir had he caught him."

"The enterprise was ill-considered, true," Curunír said with a frown towards Olórin. "Nevertheless, all of my studies show he cannot become a true danger to the world without the ring."

This was ridiculous. Sauron had been the right hand of the Enemy. To claim he could be not dangerous, in any shape or form, was absurd. Galadriel had watched him, over the ages, destroy everything she loved. Surely the others must see that he had to be destroyed?

And yet she watched how the magic of Curunír's words wound itself around most present, excepting Celeborn, Lord Ciryatan, Olórin and Lord Laurefindil. Erestor approved of the caution, Lord Ciryatan's people were unwilling to risk lives of the few of them that remained for a threat that was so distant to them, Feliel liked the idea that Sauron was so weak as to be laughable now, and Thranduil, of course, was ever opposed to anything Galadriel suggested. This time, at least, he had a reason she could understand. Olórin heard him speak to his companions, and apparently a son had been born to him recently. It seemed an ill-considered time to have children, but it made it easier to understand why he would be unwilling to risk his life at this point.

And so most of the Council agreed with Curunír, and they decided nothing would be done.

"This cannot be allowed to go on," Galadriel said when those close to her gathered in Lothlórien afterwards. "If we do not do something, we will soon have Sauron at a strength when none of us will be capable of defeating him. The strategy with the Council failed, and we need to simply attack."

"Would you go to war with Thranduil over this? Would you have another kinslaying?" Lord Laurefindil asked pointedly, and Galadriel gave him a hard look.

"If they decided to react to our attempt to save Middle-Earth by war, well, at least the shoe would be on the other foot for once: the Sindar, not the Noldor, would be spilling the blood of their kin."

 _We need a distraction_ , Elrond said in her mind, trying to keep them calm. _Something that will turn Thranduil's mind away from the attack while we carry it out._

Galadriel repeated his idea out loud.

"I have been worrying about Smaug for the longest time," Olórin mused. "And now Thrain has given me an important tool. Perhaps these two matters could be joined. If the situation in the Lonely Mountain changed, surely that would be enough to distract Thranduil."

"Most definitely," Erestor agreed. "But how do you propose to destroy the dragon?"

"I have...some ideas," he replied evasively, and Galadriel had to squash her upset at being left out again. Perhaps he would tell her later, in privacy. "It will need preparation, however."

"How long?" She asked. "We do not have much time."

"Not too long, I hope," he replied cryptically, and Galadriel sighed.


	93. Attack

AN: Guys...guys we're almost there! This is Hobbit-era, and next chapter we start delving into LOTR material! Incredible!

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 **Chapter 93: Attack**

 _Year 2941 of the Third Age, Lothlórien_

Preparations for the attack on Sauron were long and elaborate. Combining stealth with enough force to actually threaten him was no easy task, even when the stealth required was limited by the distraction they planned for Thranduil.

Olórin, of course, did most of the work. He talked to the current head of the Khazad-dûm line of kings, Thorin, and urged him to prepare to reclaim his homeland. He journeyed to the Lonely mountain himself to ascertain the dangers.

"Are you sacrificing the dwarves for this distraction?" Galadriel asked him, shocked, when he first hinted at his plan.

"I hope not," he replied. "It is not my intention."

"Elrond and I both have realms with armies, and yet we have left the dragon alone for almost two centuries because he would not be so easy to draw out. What do you expect a group of dwarves to do?"

"As with our attack on Sauron, stealth can sometimes do more than brute force."

Galadriel gave him a dubious look. "Stealth? On a dragon?"

"Trust me, my friend," he said with a smile.

"I will endeavour to, but sometimes you truly make it difficult."

His eyes shone with suppressed amusement as he gave her a grave nod of acknowledgement.

Galadriel, for her part, did not need to prepare much, and so her work mostly consisted of organizing the realm in case the fight or the pursuit turned out to take longer than expected. Lothlórien needed to survive that time without her ring to protect them.

It was in the midst of these preparations that Curunír's summons to a session of the White Council arrived.

The moment she saw it, Galadriel was certain he knew what they were planning, and either directly or indirectly, he meant to intervene. She rather expected it would be indirectly – if he revealed their plans to Thranduil, the Council would fall apart, and that would be the end of any power he had through it. But whichever the case, there was nothing left to do but send the Lothlórien representatives to Isengard and see what he had in store.

It turned out to be rather astonishing.

"My friends," he began the meeting, "at the urging of this council, I've spent the last almost century intensely studying Sauron in his current residence. And though it's with a heavy heart that I say it, I must say it: the evil in Dol Guldur can no longer be tolerated. We have to attack."

It was a great advantage of Galadriel only being present in Olórin's mind that she did not have to attempt to remain impassive, and she was free to say any of the many things she wished to say, so long as her friend understood she did not wish for him to repeat it out loud.

Feliel, who now sat on the council in Avorneth's place, had no such advantage, but she also had less self-control.

"What?" She asked. "That's directly contrary to what you said last time!"

"It is," he admitted calmly. "I've studied the matter more deeply, and I've changed my mind."

"You've- this is ridiculous!"

"Don't you believe we should attack, then, my lady?"

Feliel opened her mouth, and closed it again.

Galadriel finally gathered her thoughts enough to know what she wanted to say, and so the silence was broken by Olórin. "The Lady Galadriel says that she's glad that, after long and detailed study, you've arrived to the same conclusion we had some centuries before," he said, keeping the irony soft and subtle just as she intended. "It's reassuring to her to have her views verified independently. But she asks, what does King Thranduil think about such a suggestion? Dol Guldur is in his lands, after all."

Thranduil scowled at Olórin. "If it's a mission that's agreed upon by the whole council," he said pointedly, "then I have no objection."

"I knew I could count on the king's gracious agreement," Curunír said with a slight bow, "especially as, having a young son, he has even more reasons now to wish for his forest to be safe."

Galadriel rather thought that if a king needed to have an adult son to desire safety for his realm, he was not much of a king in the first place, but she refrained from stating that much. "When can we attack, then?" She asked instead, through Olórin. "Surely the sooner, the better."

"Indeed," Curunír agreed. "We can meet in three months at the edges of Mirkwood, if everyone agrees?"

Lord Ciryatan coughed. "That'd hardly give us enough time to go to Grey Havens and back," he said.

"We don't need to," Arminas pointed out before anyone else could say anything. "We aren't taking armies, if I understand the situation correctly – it'll only be the council itself?"

Curunír and Galadriel nodded at the same time, though no one, of course, could see _her_ nod.

"Then," Arminas said, "it'll be better for us, surely, to rest in Lothlórien or Rivendell for a time before we set out on such a task, instead of exhausting ourselves with the journey?"

Lord Ciryatan gave a questioning look to his other companion, and at his assent, agreed to the three months' date.

"You're welcome in Lothlórien if you wish to come there," Celeborn assured him. At Galadriel's soft nudge to his thoughts, as much of one as she was capable at the distance, he added: "In fact, all of us who'll come from the West could gather there, and then we can simply cross the river."

Curunír's mouth twisted, but he did not say anything, merely assented and moved on to the tactical planning.

The key task, clearly, was ensuring Sauron did not escape from their advance. To that end, Olórin repeated Elrond's suggestion of coming in stealth, but it was summarily rejected by Curunír.

"If we must go against such power," he said, "then we go in force, to minimize any risk to us. We use all we have."

"Then he'll run," Erestor pointed out.

"If the worst comes to pass, he'll run and we'll get a century or two of respite, as we did last time Mithrandir chased him out. It's a better option than some of us dying because we're unwilling to use our power."

Galadriel did not exactly agree with that, for she did not believe that Sauron fleeing now would gain them a few centuries of respite – nor did she believe she could well survive that long and be of any use when he returned. She would withstand the wounds on her soul for only so long. But attacking in force did have its advantages, and so she did not voice her objections.

"It's one thinking making peace with the possibility he might flee," Lord Ciryatan said, "but surely we have t o at least attempt a plan that would prevent it?"

And so they did.

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Members of the White Council were slowly gathering in Lothlórien in preparation for the attack.

It was the first time Elrond came there in a very long time, and he took his time to appreciate it in all aspects. He walked among the mellyrn in astonishment, observing their growth and how they comprised most of the forest now. He paid his respects at Cerin Amroth. And he was charmed to meet Birik and Hana and their daughters.

"I've heard much about you from my sons," he told the family as they gathered to dine together and talk at leisure.

"Surely mostly about Tugu?" Birik asked archly.

Elrond smiled. "True," he admitted. "And about Banja from my daughter," he added with a nod to Arwen. He had spent a long time in considering whether to leave her in Rivendell or take her with him. Lothlórien, being near Dol Goldur, was at risk by whatever they did. But remaining in Rivendell would put Arwen outside the protection of a ring for longer as he journeyed south, and if Sauron escaped them, she would be unprotected longer until he returned. In the end, he chose to trust that the combined strength of the Council was enough to stop any darkness that could try and move towards Lothlórien.

"Lady Arwen is too kind," Banja muttered.

Arwen smiled at her. "No," she said. "You're too modest."

"If what my daughter says about your healing is true, she's certainly right," Elrond added. "Your skill is exceptional. I'd be glad to discuss it with you later."

"It'd be an honour, my lord," Banja said in an even lower voice, her embarrassment growing.

Elrond took pity on her and turned to Tugu instead. "You experience in southern and eastern lands of Men," he said, "were often invaluable to my sons, so allow me to thank you for that."

Tugu only smirked. "I'm sure it was fully compensated by the trouble I caused them by my inability to hold my tongue, my lord, so no thanks is necessary."

Elrond raised an eyebrow. "I'm surprised to hear such self-recrimination from you."

"Is that not what your sons led you to believe you should expect?" She asked, amused. "Don't worry, they were not wrong – it's not self-recrimination."

"Unfortunately, our daughter is proud of her outspoken nature," Hana commented with a hint of a smile on her face as well.

"It isn't necessarily unfortunate," Elrond pointed out, "though perhaps she should not look for her vocation in diplomacy."

The whole family laughed at the idea, and then Elrond turned the topic again, and began to question them about their lands of origin. Did the dream of their shared journey still linger in his mind, Galadriel wondered, as it lingered in hers?

But the time set for the attack on Sauron was not far now, and they both had to turn their thoughts to different things. They kept mostly to solitude, each lost in their own memories. Galadriel though of her brother the most, and of the oath she had made in Tol Sirion. But almost as much, she thought of Hollin, of the beauty of the realm, of Tyelperinquar and Sarnel and Mírdan, and all the others who had been lost with it. She thought of Artanáro, too. She thought of every drop of blood that could be laid at Sauron's feet.

Just one day before the appointed date, Arwen approached her in her flet.

"May I speak with you, grandmother?" She asked.

"Of course." Galadriel turned to her from her work. "What is it, beloved?"

"It is only that...as you are preparing for the attack, as you are gathering your thoughts and feelings, I...I can sense them, I can sense the desire to avenge your loved ones in you, and...well..." She hesitated, looking to the ground, clearly unsure how to say what she wanted. "You have to fight him with light, do you not?" She asked at length.

Galadriel understood what the problem was immediately. "And you fear that my thoughts will turn to vengeance, and thus to darkness, and I will not defeat him?"

"...yes," Arwen admitted.

Galadriel smiled and gestured to a bench, settling down next to her granddaughter. "Beloved," she said, "do you think Nolofinwë, when he rode out against The Enemy, was thinking of birds and flowers and sweet light of Lady Estë? And yet he struck the Enemy seven times before he fell."

Arwen frowned. "What are you telling me, grandmother?"

"That not all anger is dark. Much depends on the reasons for your anger. If it stems from vanity and pride and bitterness, then yes, your anger will be dark, and you will fall, in the end, like Fëanáro did. But if your anger stems from love and compassion, if it is an outrage at the sins committed against these, and if you do not allow it to consume you wholly and control you...then no, anger is not dark, just as passion is not dark. Lord Oromë is terrible in his anger, I am sure you have heard that from me as well, and you can hardly call him dark."

Arwen was silent for a moment, digesting this. "But do you not need to recall the light to fight with all your strength?" She asked at length.

"Yes, but you can recall light even in anger." Galadriel paused. "I assume your father has taught you some of the basics of healing, and that is where your worry stems from? But is is a different kind of light. When I heal, I cast my mind back to the gardens of Lórien, to Lady Estë, and it comes forth as gentle and nurturing. But when I fight, I cast my mind back to Lady Arien and Lord Oromë, and it comes forth as strong and blinding, and it destroys any darkness in its path. Of course there is ultimately only one source of Light, The One, and He is both gentle and terrible – and so whether I heal or fight, I can always cast my mind back to the Queen of Arda, for the light in her face is both as well..."

Galadriel trailed of, for as she spoke, she did what she described, and was hit by a pang of longing for the West so strong she had to stifle a gasp. _O, Elbereth, Star-kindle_ r, she thought silently. _We still remember, we who dwell in this far land beneath the trees,_ _your_ _starlight on the Western Seas._ Yet she did not allow herself to slip into grief and longing. Her mind was directed differently now, and so she focused on the bright light.

While Galadriel was lost in thought, Arwen considered the matter of their discussion some more. "So when you fight him, you will be thinking of Lady Arien and Lord Oromë and Queen Varda?" She asked.

"Yes," Galadriel replied, coming back to herself, "but I will also be thinking of Laurelin, and I will be thinking of my brother and Sarnel and Tyelperinquar and Mírdan and all the lost people of my realm, and of Artanáro, and all this will make my anger shine brighter." She smiled at Arwen, but it was not a reassuring smile in and of itself. There was something wild about it as some of that anger and light shone through, and Arwen rose from the bench in shock and alarm. "Do not worry about me," Galadriel said simply, in a voice that seemed to echo strangely, and after seeing what she just had, if Arwen had any fears, they were not that her grandmother would be overcome by darkness.

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Olórin finally joined them, abandoning the dwarves in Mirkwood – the wisdom of which Galadriel somewhat doubted, but now was not the time to argue, and besides, she had promised she would trust him – and they gathered for one final attempt at tactical planning.

"Thranduil, his people and Radagast will cover the northern side," he repeated the most essential part of the strategy planned in Isengard months ago. Thranduil had refused to let anyone else share that responsibility with him. "It falls to us to divide the rest between ourselves."

Galadriel frowned. "Curunír will take south, will he not?"

"I believe so, yes."

"He is strong enough – he barely needs reinforcements. Perhaps Feliel and Arminas could go with him?"

They both nodded their assent, and Elrond and Galadriel exchanged a look. What came next, they knew, was the crucial question.

How to divide forces between East and West?

East, they all knew, was the direction Sauron was most likely to flee towards. It stood to reason the strongest guard should be there.

But West was where Lothlórien was – where Arwen would be.

And if the way East was blocked, they both knew Sauron would turn West to try and take his revenge.

And Galadriel knew what the right choice for the good of the world was, she knew it clearly, but suddenly she simply could not. She thought of Celebrían's shadowed eyes, of her hollow voice, and she could not.

"I, Celeborn and Elrond will take West," she said.

"And Glorfindel," Elrond finished for her.

She hesitated for the slightest moment – was this not too much, she wondered, was she not being too selfish, was it not too- but then she saw Elrond's eyes and simply confirmed: "And Lord Glorfindel, yes."

No one dared object. "That leaves me, Lord Círdan, Galdor and Erestor in the East, am I correct?" Olórin simply asked, and there were nods all around.

This was wrong, Galadriel knew. This was entirely unequal. But still, she could not make herself do anything.

"Remember that there is no way to make completely certain he will not run," Olórin said after a short silence during which, she was convinced, they had all been thinking the same. "There are too many escapes from Dol Guldur, especially for a spirit. We cannot surround him properly."

"Then I ask again, what hope does this attack have?" Erestor spoke rather louder than was usual for him, frustrated. Galadriel thought he might be a little worried, too. He was not a fighter by nature, after all, and he would be separated from his husband by this division of forces, and stationed at the most dangerous side. "We know from your first journey there that Sauron has learned from his mistake in the Last Alliance, and now runs when he is at a disadvantage."

"At the very least, we will destroy all the dark creatures that dwell there," Elrond pointed out.

That seemed like pitiful enough result to Galadriel. "We have to do out best," she said with conviction. "Make sure you seal every corridor and every tunnel you notice, every escape route. We have Thranduil's old plans of Amon Lanc. They might be of some use, as much as I am sure Sauron changed the residence to suit his needs. Mirhrandir told us what he knows from his two journeys there. We are not entirely without an idea about his escape routes. We have to do our best to stop him."

Olórin gave her an intent look. _You know, my friend, that that hope might have well been dashed by your division of forces,_ he said in her mind. There was no blame in his tone, merely statement of fact.

 _What can I do? What should I do?_ She asked him, fighting to not let despair touch her, for she could not afford it now.

He shook his head minutely. _Believing Arwen was in danger would only harm your efforts more,_ he said. _You need all of your mind, as does Elrond. There is nothing to be done. We all simply have to know there is a good chance that Sauron will escape._

Galadriel could not accept that so blithely, but there truly was nothing else to be done, and so they rode.

They met with Curunír at the borders of Mirkwood, and he accepted the company of Feliel and Arminas as he headed south. Olórin and his group departed alongside him, to continue further on to be able to approach from the East.

The western group, meanwhile, waited.

"I should have left Arwen in Rivendell," Elrond said after a moment, unable to bear the silence.

"She would have still been to the West," Galadriel pointed out something they had discussed before, "and, as Mithrandir reminded me, worry for her would have taken your mind from the fight. Every little thing might turn out to matter."

Elrond sighed. "Perhaps." He paused, pacing for a moment. "There is more than one reason I am unsettled about this," he added then. "I still believe the original plan of using stealth was the better one."

Galadriel shrugged. "It had its merits, but this has different ones, and you know there was no chance of convincing Curunír that stealth was the correct approach."

"I have to say I agree with him in this instance," Lord Laurefindil interjected. "I hesitated to voice that in the Council, as I dislike agreeing with him on principle, and Erestor, of course, if of Elrond's mind, but...to be at our full strength, we need the Light of the West, and that, as you know, is hardly compatible with stealth."

"Yes, but that holds true for only the two of us and Arminas," she pointed out.

Lord Laurefindil shook his head. "Elrond, too, can reach the light, and so can Feliel and your husband to a lesser degree."

"To very much lesser," Celeborn muttered. "I would not pit my ability to recall of some Queen Melian's light against any other strategic advantage."

"Nor would I," Elrond agreed, "as you know. But it is too late to change the tactics now."

Indeed, it was – in another few hours, the agreed upon sign came, and the attack began.

The four elves entered the forest, and once they did, they _changed_.

Where there had been only a small group of elves, there now marched figures of blazing light, and two were brightest and chiefest among them, both fair and golden-haired. "Ride at speed!" Galadriel cried, and her horse darted forwards, Lord Laurefindil at her side, their light shining almost as bright as Lady Arien herself. Here in this forest where sun had not shone for centuries, they were blinding, overwhelming. The dark creatures that crawled the land fell away from their path, destroyed or paralysed by the blazing glory, and those that survived were then felled by the swords of those who rode behind.

They seared their way to the fortress like an avalanche coming from the river valley, and the creatures defending the walls withered and died upon meeting them as well, standing no chance against the onslaught of power that was brought to bear against them. But but when the elves of light arrived to the central courtyard and met the other members of the Council, there was suddenly nothing more to turn their anger on. All was quiet around them. They stopped.

"He is still here," Galadriel said, feeling Sauron's mind.

"There are many escapes from the dungeons of this palace," Olórin repeated.

"There were many while we still dwelt here," Thranduil agreed, "and I wouldn't be surprised if he made even more."

"We enter one, he might flee through another," Curunír added. "It's fruitless. We have no way to lure him out, and no way to corner him."

There were murmurs of agreement from some. "So we should be content with slaying his beasts?" One of Thranduil's people asked.

"Not until we have exhausted all other options," Galadriel argued. "We have to try."

Curunír was reluctant, but this time, it seemed, not even his honeyed voice could compete with the desire to be rid of the evil once and for all – or, perhaps, with the blazing light of Galadriel that still lingered after their attack.

Whatever the cause, the Council took to exploring the tunnels, each going in from a different side, and yet wherever they went, Sauron was still present just beyond their reach, just enough to tease them, there but impossible to find.

They spent hours searching before they met again in the central courtyard and Olórin said: "It is time to face it: we will not find him. We have to accept that."

"No," Galadriel only said, and her voice was like a bell.

She stepped into the middle of the courtyard, and now her mind was not on Aman or any of those for whom she wanted to revenge herself on Sauron, but on her beloved uncle only, and the memory resonating clearly in her mind as the light blazed from her, she called: "Come! You have wanted your revenge on me for cursing you – come, then, and strike the final blow! Cast me down! I challenge you! You have been killed by a Man before you reached me in the last battle, pitiful as you are, but now I am here waiting for you! Or are you a craven? Come, lord of slaves, and face me...come and be destroyed!"

And as she called, her light poured out of her and crawled into every little hole, every little crevice of the fortress, destroying anything of darkness that remained.

 _So wise and yet so foolish_ , Sauron answered to her mind, only for her to hear, like a snake whispering in her ear. _I am not my old master, and I have already been wounded by one of your family. I have no interest in repeating it._

And then he fled.

Galadriel collapsed to the ground, closing her eyes. She was drained, completely void of any power, empty as a well run dry. She needed to get back to Lothlórien like she needed to breathe – it was a necessity and a burning desire.

But there were a few more things to arrange before that.

When she opened her eyes again, she looked up the others and saw astonishment. "Yes, he fled," she said, tired. "There were no captains he would have to impress left here..."

She looked closer at their faces. Lord Laurefindil and Olórin seemed slightly amused for some reason, Elrond was smiling softly, and Thranduil seemed angry. And Curunír, while angry, also looked distinctly calculating. In this moment, Galadriel saw with certainty that at least one of the reasons he had agreed to the attack in the end was to see how strong the members of the Council were.

"Yes, in spite of your very impressive posturing," he sneered in response to what she had said. "I had thought you had a better plan, otherwise I would have interfered myself."

Galadriel did not dignify that with a response. "We need to track him down," she pointed out, struggling to sit up. "My friend, are you willing?" She asked Olórin, turning to him as Celeborn came to support her.

"Certainly," Olórin replied. "I hope, however, that you will allow me to accompany you to Lothlórien first for a period of rest."

"By all means."

"This is all very fine," Curunír said in a cold voice, "but if I remember correctly, I am the head of the council and therefore it falls to me to decide what to do."

Galadriel ignored him once more as she bid her farewell to all the others and, accompanied by her, Lord Ciryatan's and Elrond's people, and Celeborn and Olórin helping her stand and mount her horse, she headed back home.

Once they crossed the Great River and were again in her forest, she spoke. "Curunír is planning something," she said.

"He was testing our strength, wasn't he?" Elrond asked.

"Yes." Galadriel had been considering the matter on their wey there, as much as she was able in her drained state. Now that she was back in Lothlórien, even with none of her power left to uphold the borders, her thoughts were clearer and she could put them into words. "I believe he has some plans he knows we wouldn't approve of, so much so that we might actually try to stop him, and is wondering if we'd be successful."

"He does not worry me too much," Celeborn commented. "What I wonder about more is why exactly Sauron waited so long to flee."

"Perhaps for the same reason?" Olórin suggested.

The moment he said it, Galadriel was certain it was the truth. "Yes," she said. "He knew he was in no real danger because he could always flee, and so he waited and watched us. We have to be vigilant, because if he returns again, he'll try very hard to destroy us."

"Especially you and Glorfindel," Elrond pointed out, smiling. "It's been long since the War of Wrath, I've almost forgotten..."

Celeborn smiled at her. "A dangerous mistake," he said, "to forget how formidable my wife is."

Galadriel returned a tired smile, even though she hardly felt like smiling. It was a trap, set both by Sauron and by Curunír, and she had fallen directly into it. But there would be enough time for self-recrimination when she was less weak. "What to do about Curunír?" She asked.

"It'd be best to find out his plans," Olórin said. "I'll do what I can on that front, but I believe tracking Gorthaur takes priority."

"Certainly," Galadriel agreed. "Fro one, he is more powerful, and for another...well, I still I hope that what Curunír plans is nothing too terrible. I wonder what could have been his purpose in trying to prevent the attack on Dol Guldur, and if it is somewhat related. He can hardly wish for Sauron's return to full strength, after all."

"I'd suggest he knew Sauron would only flee again and so it was fruitless," Elrond mused, "but then he never used this argument in the Council."

"He might've been studying something related to Dol Guldur," Celeborn said. "We know he's a great student of Gorthaur, and perhaps his presence allowed Curunír to discover what he could not before."

"But why not admit the truth, then?" Elrond frowned.

"And if his studies included crossing a line he knew we would not support? What if he did some sorts of research, or experiments, that would seem dark to us, perhaps as dark as some of Gorthaur's work?"

Galadriel inhaled sharply. "I believe you may well be right, beloved," she said. "And that gives me a little more fear about what he intends now...We put our trust in you, my friend," she added, turning to Olórin.

"I will endeavour not to fail it, then," he replied.


	94. Destiny

**Chapter 94: Destiny**

 _Year 2951 of the Third Age, Lothlórien_

 _I know who the king we saw in the Mirror_ _is_ , Elrond announced one afternoon.

 _Truly? Who?_ Galadriel asked, eager to decode one of the greatest mysteries that troubled her.

 _Aragorn_ , _the current young chieftain of the D_ _ú_ _nedain_ , Elrond replied.

She smiled in relief, pushing her fears related to that away. _So it is drawing near, then_ , she said. They had long ago realized that renewing the kingdom in Gondor could only come after another war.

 _Yes. This age will soon be over_. Elrond paused. _I recognized him, you know. Today, he came back from an expedition, and for the first time I could see in his face a trace of the man he would become. So I told him who he was, and I gave him the ring of-_ Elrond paused.

 _My brother's ring_ , Galadriel finished for him.

 _Yes, and the shards of Narsil. I did not tell him that his fate was foreseen – it seemed too much for a twenty year old young man._

 _You were wise not to_ , Galadriel agreed. _If only because he might start treating it as certainty, and you know the Mirror sometimes show_ _s_ _things that only may be._

 _Rarely enough_ , he pointed out.

 _Yes, but still, we need to tread carefully. But I am glad that Aragorn should be the new king: I have faith you raised him well, and your sons spoke very well of him when they were here to take Arwen back to you._

 _I am glad of it as well, and yet it still troubles me why the vision was revealed on the day of my wedding._

Galadriel took great care to hide her thoughts from him about that, but she was worried. She was deeply worried.

She went to see Celeborn to share her dread, but while he was supportive, he still did not credit it. "Your fear will come to nothing," he reassured her. "This is a reason to rejoice. The war will be over soon."

She dearly wished she could feel like he did.

She passed a restless night, not getting a wink of sleep as she tried to consult her mirror again and again. But she only kept seeing the same image over and over, no matter how many times she looked. Aragorn, crowned king in Gondor.

The matter was resolved with finality only a day later, though, when Galadriel, in the midst of trying to force herself to do some work in spite of her worries, suddenly felt sharp pain from Elrond, sharper than anything felt before, sharper and greater, even, than at Celebrían's torture and sailing. She felt, then, the despair that enveloped him.

She rose immediately. "I'm riding to Rivendell," she called to Celeborn who had been resting in their flet, and she jumped most of the distance to the ground and disappeared between the trees, mounting her horse and tearing through the forest, as fast as when she had ridden to help her daughter, if not even faster.

All of her power went into supporting the horse and spurring it on, and the mountains blurred by her side as she followed the Great River northwards, and she tore through the High Pass so speedily that the mountains shook behind her. _I am coming, beloved, I am coming_ , she was calling to Elrond perpetually in her mind.

It was late evening when she arrived to Rivendell, after a full day of journey, and she simply jumped off her exhausted horse and ran into Elrond's rooms.

He was kneeling on the ground there, tears streaming down his face, and a mute scream arrested in his throat.

Galadriel shut the door firmly, came to him and embraced him tightly.

"Talk to me, beloved," she said, "talk to me, tell me what happened."

He was unable to, but his mind stayed open, and so Galadriel delved into that misery and pain and after a time, found the source.

It helped, of course, that she had a good idea what she was looking for.

Soon enough, she saw Elrond's memory of Aragorn – she, too, could see traces of the man he would become, of the man whose face she knew so well from her mirror – and she saw his infatuation with Arwen as clearly in his looks as Elrond did. Or – perhaps it was not fair, to call it infatuation. Certainly she saw, even in the echo of a memory, something of more substance in his looks that in the looks of those who were merely entranced by Arwen's beauty. But Aragorn could not feel the Flame alone, and Arwen showed no signs of it. He was still young, true. Was this what it looked like, when the two willed by Eru to be together met when one of them was not old enough to reach the potential for that partnership? She thought of Spenna. He would know. Elladan and Elrohir might, too, for they discussed it much with him when he first fell in love.

But all of this was only in the back of her mind, to be considered at some later date. What was pressing, now, what was urgent, was Elrond's raw despair. Even her own she had to push away, even as she wished she could join Elrond in his silent scream.

Instead, she simply held him and whispered soothing words to his mind, using all of her healing power to try and bring him from the brink. She did not think of Aman this time, however, she though of Lúthien dancing in the glades of Doriath.

It seemed only fitting.

After hours of slowly lessening agony, Elrond finally came back to himself enough to speak. He turned his desperate eyes to Galadriel and said hollowly: "I know now why you had the vision on our wedding day."

"Shh, beloved, I know. I know everything."

"Why? Why, Aunt?" He asked urgently. "Why do they do this to me?"

"Because they love," she replied, the words ringing empty even to her own ears, but still trying to make them as convincing as she was able. "Would you not follow Celebrían to the chasm of death itself?"

He laughed bitterly. "I did not even follow her to Aman," he said.

"Do you not dare blaming yourself for that. You knew it would be but a short separation. But if she was mortal, would you not have chosen the same fate for her?"

"Could she not have Tuor's fate instead?"

Galadriel tightened the embrace and caressed his hair. "She could have, perhaps, had you not been half-elven, but Aragorn never could, as you know. His fate is different."

"Yes, I know," Elrond said, exhaling and closing his eyes. "I understand fully now, and I know what is it that I must say to him and that I must not be harsh, but...my heart is torn from my chest."

"I know...I know, beloved." And yet she did not, not in full: she loved Lúthien, Elros and Arwen, but they were not her own twin brother, or daughter she had been close to for thousands of years.

Elrond caught these thoughts, and said: "And still you are the one who can understand me best in this." He took a deep breath and rose. "Thank you. You saved me."

"I am here for you, beloved, always. Remember that."

"I know, and I thank you again. But you should return to your realm now – it is too dangerous to leave it unprotected. My peace of mind is hardly worth that risk."

Galadriel sighed. "Your peace of mind is worth everything to me, and it is less dangerous now than ten years ago, but you are right that we are hardly at peace. I will return, but...be strong, beloved, and if you ever have urgent need of me again, do not hesitate to call."

She went back to Lothlórien at a slightly slower pace, not wishing to kill another animal by this journey, but once back, took great pains to carefully check that everything with her realm was as it should be. Then her mind reached further, to search for the evil that still escaped them, to make certain it had not reappeared in her brief absence...and for the first time in a decade, she found it.

In Mordor.

Her mind was still fragile from the confirmation of Arwen's fate, and so she reeled, despair clouding her again.

Celeborn sensed her distress and rushed to her side. "What is it?" He asked.

"Gorthaur is back." She paused and looked for strength to deliver the final bit of news. "In Mordor."

It was time to let Olórin know he could stop looking now. They could not touch Sauron in Mordor, not easily. There would have to be war again – but there was hardly anyone left to wage it.

Once again, she had failed in her task.

With a heavy heart, unwilling to add to his burdens at this time but seeing no other way, she contacted Elrond to tell him first.

 _I should have known_ , he said heavily. _Misfortune seeks company – or, looking on the bright side of things, it shows the hand of Fate that Aragorn was revealed in his role just as Sauron made himself manifest again. I sense this will be their fight to a large degree, and we will be relegated to the role of_ _advisors_ _and helpers_ _mostly_.

 _It is the age of Men_ , Galadriel agreed, _and there is little we can do, with our armies diminished and tied to our realms the way we are. Still, when the final battle comes, I hope to be on the field and have a chance to end Sauron once and for_ _a_ _ll, as I swore I would. Until then, I am happy to support Aragorn's efforts in any way – as regards the war, that is_ , she amended, for there was one way in which she was not ready to support him.

 _Yes, but that is the problem, is it not?_ Elrond asked heavily, in response to her unvoiced thoughts. _I worry about how to speak to him. I wished to avoid harshness, but I confess I meant to discourage him. Now – I do not know. His task, I sense, begins with this, and he needs to start the fight. And yet you saw the vision of him becoming king again after Arwen was born._ _It seems_ _his kingship is tied to her love in a way that cannot be untied,_ _that_ _their love is tied to victory in the war._ _What if, if I discourage him now, it will take the will to fight out of him? What if he gives up on his destiny, and the world will be left to darkness?_

Galadriel sighed. It was possible, of course, but she did not wish to think of it. _In any case Arwen would only laugh at him now. You are safe to tell him that – though, perhaps, in kinder words._ _Impress_ _the importance of duty over love at this point on him, and we will meet the rest when it comes._

 _Yes_ , Elrond said heavily. She could feel the dread of that in his thoughts.

-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-

The years that followed were busier than Galadriel had been perhaps since the First Age.

In Second Age, when the elven might was great and time was long, they took centuries to prepare for a war. Now, she knew they were limited by the human lifetime of Aragorn, and suddenly there seemed impossibly much that needed to be done in an impossibly short time.

Especially as she could not leave her realm to do it.

She did her best to act through the intermediaries she had left.

First she went to the mountains and called to Gwindor. He came so soon she suspected he must have been waiting for her.

"Darkness is gathering again," she told him.

"Yes," he agreed.

"So I would ask for your help," she continued. "In battle, but until it comes, in gathering information. I can read much in Sauron's mind, but not all. If you could let me or Elrond know what you see of the movement of his troops, of the agents he sends...we would be grateful."

"I will," he said simply, and flew away.

Galadriel, feeling a little wrong-footed after a talk with one of the eagles as always, called Gildor next. She had not seen him for long millennia, and was not certain how he would react to the summons. But he came, though she could sense his reluctance. "I know you do not wish to be involved in wars," she said, "and I do not wish to obligate you, and yet – if you have any loyalty left to me, would you agree to at least gather information where you walk through the lands of Middle-Earth, and give it to me or Elrond when you pass our realms?"

Gildor frowned. "I do not travel alone – I have a company, and they would not be glad if I asked them to tread the path where the fate of war is spun."

Galadriel shook her head. "That is not what I am asking," she said. "Walk where you would, but keep your eyes on other things beside the beauty of Middle-Earth, and if you learn of anything, let us know."

He hesitated, then inclined his head. "I will try," he said, "but I have not had anything but the beauty of nature, poetry and company on my mind for this last age. I do not know how useful a spy I will be."

"Every little bit can help," Galadriel assured him, and he departed.

She wondered at the life he led – he made Middle-Earth his Aman in many ways, and she did not know why – why he did not rather sail – and also how – how could he do so here, when there was so much sorrow.

But she had no time to dwell in these thoughts. Instead, she went over all the others she knew in her mind, trying to gauge who else could help.

Olórin, of course, was working tirelessly, travelling the length and breadth of Middle-Earth to help prepare for the war and to give spirit. From him, she knew that there were good news in Gondor, where the new steward showed great promise of wisdom and good rule, but that all was not well in Greenwood, where dark creatures persevered even after their cleansing of Dol Guldur, and some of them had recently slain the family of Thranduil's queen. The realm was mourning.

From Olórin, she also knew that the dwarves were talking about attempting to take Khazad-dûm back. The thought filled her with despair. There was little she wished for more than that the ancient kingdom of dwarves be renewed, and at any other time she would have gone in with Lord Laurefindil and cleared the way for them, but at this time she could not, not with the war so near and so many tasks before her. And she knew what fate awaited the dwarves if they entered their old kingdom without her protection.

Yet her tasks were different, and the most important one – examining the mind of Sauron.

She had feared that she would not be able to reach him in Mordor, but the ring gave her long sight, and she could see his mind almost as clearly as when he had been in Dol Guldur, used to it by the long years of practice.

Now his consciousness was clear, and she could read much in it about his plans for the upcoming war. It was all twisted and dark, and she needed much consolation after she looked, but look she did, every day, making sure no little thing escaped her.

Apart from Olórin, Elladan and Elrohir sometimes brought her news as well. They came rarely, busy in Eriador with the Rangers of Men, but when they did come, they brought detailed information, and more and more news about Aragorn.

He was venturing out on his own more frequently, not simply as the Chieftain of the Rangers, but as his own man, riding across the whole of Eriador to find any signs of darkness and root them out. He was, everyone agreed, shaping up very well for his intended role.

Galadriel wished she could honestly rejoice in that.

Instead, she distracted herself with more work, more tasks that needed to be done.

Tugu travelled East for her, to find out the situation there, and brought back news that were discouraging. "Of the blue wizards, I only heard distant mentions, for they are too far East for me to venture if I was to bring you back any news. And the nearer lands...there is hardly a chieftain of the Easterlings that is not allied with Sauron."

Galadriel shook her head. "Would that I had envoys with any hope of convincing anyone in those lands," she said with a sigh.

"But you do," Tugu replied.

Galadriel frowned. "Your mother would not wish to go."

"No – but I am willing."

And so she bid goodbye to her husband and parents and set out, and Galadriel turned her mind South, which she feared would not be in a much better situation. To find out, she cast her mind into distance once again, and once again called for help. Macalaurë came two months later, and they met in the same place as before. "Do you wish to sing once more?" He asked with a slight smile.

"I would need a lament of my own," she replied, "that would sing bitterly of my failings."

"I have not taken a commission for a long time," he answered, still with the same smile, "but I might consider it if you tell me the reason for this current shame. I am sure you understand that it still seems quite humorous to me. Yours will never compare to mine, and I will never condone you feeling shame for what happened to Celebrían."

His bluntness was always a little jarring. Galadriel wondered if it was the result of him living such a lonely life for so long, for he did not use to be that way. "We have talked about it before, and I have told you my opinion," she simply told him. "And since we last saw each other, Sauron has returned to Mordor after dwelling mere tens of miles from me for hundreds of years, and I doing nothing about it. You would have more than enough material. But that is not why I called you." She paused. "Tell me what is going on in the deep south," she asked him, and he obliged.

Galadriel listened carefully, and then said: "It is my belief that Sauron will wish to find allies wherever he can. Do you still hope to redeem yourself?"

"I have not had any kind of hope for years. But I wish I could, yes."

"Then do what you can to foil his plans in the lands where you live, and where neither me nor Elrond or Olórin have any influence."

"And do you believe that will be enough to allow me back in the good graces of the Valar?" He asked ironically.

"You are not the only one without hope," she replied. "I do not have that faith either, and yet I do what I can."

"You are right, of course. Forgive me." He paused. "Did you not think I would try to foil Sauron even without your instruction? If nothing else, he was the servant of the Enemy I have sworn to hate."

"Yes, but you might not have realized who it was that the forces were gathering for. I thought to give you an advance warning, as well as instruction."

He hesitated, then inclined his head. "Very well then. I will get to work...and I will start on that song as well."

Galadriel only gave him a sad smile in return. She was not certain she could survive a recounting of all her failing in Macalaurë's perfect song with her mind intact.

This new ally arranged, she returned to her chief occupation of glimpsing what she could of Sauron's mind. Apart from trying to divine his plans, she also spent long periods by attempting to distract him from his work by her mind. What time remained she passed by arranging her plans according to what she learned, as well as informing Elrond and Olórin. Elrond, she knew, took care of sending messengers to Lord Ciryatan, and Celeborn attempted to do the same with Thranduil. Lately, they were even accepted more often than not, to Galadriel's surprise. Did Thranduil finally realize the seriousness of the danger?

She had little time for pleasure now, but she tried to make some, especially when Arwen was in Lothlórien. Her granddaughter had spent the entire decade after Sauron's flight from Dol Guldur in the forest, trying to make up for the long centuries she was hardly there after her mother's sailing. In fact, the time in Rivendell she had met Aragorn had been intended as but a brief visit to see her beloved father for a few months. Fate, it seemed to Galadriel, and it made her uneasy.

But now, at the danger of parting with her for ever, Elrond wished to keep his cherished daughter by his side. Galadriel tried to grant him as much as she could – after all, she knew he would sail immediately after the war, while she would remain and have more time with Arwen. But the thought of death was still ever on her mind, and from time to time she begged Elrond to grant her the company of her granddaughter at least for a few months.

On the first such occasion, not even a decade after they realized Aragorn's importance, she asked Arwen about him.

The younger lady looked pained.

"He loves me, I know," she said. "I could see it in his mind. It seemed such a naive, puppy love...and yet. And yet there is something behind it."

"But what do you feel about him?"

Arwen laughed. "He was but a child when I saw him, and I spent not above a week in his company. I feel nothing regarding him yet. I would need to meet him again to know my mind."

"And...if you found you loved him?"

Arwen gave a deep sigh. "I have been thinking of nothing else for the last decade. I wish Spenna was still alive and here, so that I could speak to him, and also to apologize! I know I said, then, that I could never do such a thing. And yet now, I have not met Aragorn properly yet and I am still considering it. Part of me feels ashamed and repulsed by this, but the other part..."

"The other part?"

Arwen looked away. "You know that loneliness has plagued me for a very long time now. If he was the one intended for me and I turned him down, it is likely I would never escape it, not even beyond the Sea. And...Father has tried to keep it from me, but I know him too well. This war might depend on Aragorn. Could the pain of a Flame rejected not destroy his chances at ever leading the forces of the Free People successfully? I have felt, for so many long years, that I do not do enough for this world. Would not this, then, make up for it?"

Galadriel shuddered, thinking of the Numenorean lady whose thoughts had run in a similar direction. Her lot had not been a happy one. "Your marriage must never be a sacrifice for the greater good," she said with emphasis. "We are not the Second born, to be able to live that way."

Arwen shook her head. "I would never consider marrying him if I did not feel the Flame," she reassured. "It is simply...given all that I would have to leave behind, the Flame might not have been enough for me. But when these other concerns are taken into account...I believe that perhaps I would, indeed, marry him."

Galadriel managed to save her weeping for when she was alone, and she took great care not to contact Elrond.

Yet as years passed, in every subsequent visit, she could see Arwen was continuously troubled by the question. Until she met Aragorn again, she would not know, and it was tearing her up, this constant fear about what her future would bring. Not knowing, she once confessed to Galadriel, was the worst part of this fate.

Meanwhile, Galadriel's fear was slowly turning to certainty.

Not long after her first talk with Arwen, she heard that Aragorn had travelled south, to ride with the Horse Lords and then to fight in the Gondorin army. She heard news from Elrond and Olórin, then, about the trust he gained there, and the confidence he was given.

Olórin himself, too, had nothing but praise for the young chieftain, extolling his virtue and determination and wisdom.

Galadriel was a little curious, but she was much more terrified.

Her terror grew when Aragorn came to the borders of Lothlórien while Arwen dwelt there.

She knew, then, perfectly well, what her task was meant to be.

 _Why?_ She asked the Valar, turning to them. _Why, if it has to happen, would you make me complicit in this? Why do I have to give what may well be the fatal blow to the one I care most about in this world? Why would you have me hurt Elrond so much?_

Yet she knew the answer to that, too.

It was her desire to spare Arwen, after all, her inability to do what had to be done, that made it easier for Sauron to escape them in Dol Guldur. She had been unable to pay the price then, and so the trial came again, in a more horrifying form, and she knew that unless she wanted the whole world to be the price, she could not fail again.

 _Think of Arwen_ , she told herself. _At least after this, she will know. The terrible uncertainty will be over. And if it is the Flame, at least she will not be lonely any more._

But all this paled in comparison to Elrond's despair of which she could still feel an echo, and it was only millennia of dedication to duty, of doing what had to be done, that allowed her, thought the tears and self-hatred, to dispatch a quick messenger to the border guard to invite Aragorn in and offer him refuge to rest.

She had not met him until now, and so after many hours spent in Celeborn¨s arms as they consoled each other, she somehow found the strength to compose herself and go meet the young Man. She did so at the gates of Caras Galadhon. He was tired and dirty from his journey, dressed in his ranger garb, but still the likeness of Elros could be seen in him, of Elros and Silmariën both. He bowed, and she smiled at him and said: "Aragorn, son of Arathorn. Welcome to Lothlórien. Follow me, I'll lead you to the flet that was prepared for you."

There was a short silence as they walked, but then Aragorn said: "Your land is breathtakingly beautiful, my lady, though it is still no match for you."

Galadriel fought the impulse to raise her eyebrows, and instead, said simply: "It's very beautiful, I agree with you. The mellyrn that grow here bring the West to mind."

He did not seem to know what to answer to this. "I've heard, also, that they grew on Númenor," he said at length.

"They did," Galadriel confirmed. "In Eldalondë, the most beautiful part of the island."

"Your travelled there often, then, my lady?"

"Often enough, though not as often as Elrond did. But I loved some of the first kings of the realm dearly, and Silmariën, for the short time she lived, was a cherished friend to me."

"Silmariën?" he frowned for a moment. "She was the mother of the line of Andúnië, was she not?"

Galadriel did her best to chase away the bitterness that still lingered after all this time. "She was," she confirmed, "though she should have been Queen."

That seemed to confuse Aragorn. "Why to you believe so?"

"Because she was the eldest child of King Elendil," the Nolde answered simply.

"But she was a daughter, and there were other male heirs," Aragorn pointed out, as if he believed Galadriel needed an explanation of how agnatic primogeniture worked.

She had to take a moment and a calming breath before she replied: "Such were, indeed, the laws of the land at the time – but then, it was the first time this question arose, and King Elendil could have easily changed them."

Aragorn seemed honestly surprised at the suggestion, making Galadriel wonder what exactly it was that Erestor had taught him in their history classes. "It is of no matter now," she said, "it was a long time ago. Though it was for Silmariën I had the Star made, the one that later became an important symbol for your ancestors, the kings of Arnor."

Aragorn took a moment to understand what she had said. "The star of Elendil?"

Galadriel grimaced a little. "If that is what you call it, though it was much in opposition to her father, King Elendil, that I had it crafted for her."

Aragorn shook his head. "We name if for Elendil the first king of Gondor."

Galadriel scoffed. "That is even more absurd, then. But I suppose not much history survived the fall of Númenor."

They continued walking in silence for a time, Galadriel's head filled with her ghosts, before Aragorn spoke again. "Will I have an opportunity to meet the Lord of this realm as well?" He asked. "There are some matters I would wish to discuss with him, since I'm here."

"Certainly if you wish it, I'm sure he'll make some time for you," Galadriel answered, a little surprised that Aragorn would wish to discuss any matters particularly of interest to Celeborn. "But now you should rest, and tomorrow, you can fully enjoy the soothing air of our realm and recover. I have prepared a change of clothing for you here, to make use of."

"Thank you, my lady. I am very grateful to you."

She only smiled in response and left him to sleep.

She herself was restless. She had wished to speak with Aragorn to get to know him at least a little, but now she almost wished she had not. While she did not doubt that he was a good and honourable man, he did not sit well with her, and that made the thought of Arwen marrying him even more upsetting.

She shook her head at herself. _It is not you who would be marrying him,_ she told herself, _and Arwen has to decide her fate for herself._

As Lúthien did.


	95. Betrayal

**Chapter 95: Betrayal**

 _Year 3018 of the Third Age, Lothlórien_

It seemed to be a day like any other in spring when the mellyrn were just beginning to bloom when Olórin's thought materialized in Galadriel's mind, unexpected and startling: _I have found the ruling ring._

She was too shocked to reply in any way for a long while, her mind stuttering to a stop. The ruling ring...she had not, in any of her plans for this war, counted on it being count. She had known it was a possibility, but it was such a slight one, when they had not found it when they looked directly after Isildur fell, she had effectively discounted it.

For it to be found...it changed everything. Absolutely everything.

 _Where?_ She asked at lenght, her thought a whisper.

 _In The Shire, in keeping of the little folk that once dwelt north of Lothlórien,_ Olórin replied _. They knew not what is it they have._

Galadriel rather imagined not. She was astonished, though this explained Olórin's premonitions. _Have they brought it with them from the river, then?_

 _Almost._

Galadriel frowned at the evasive answer. _What do you mean by that?_

 _I...hesitate to tell you, my friend, for I know that once I do, I will face your wrath, and justly so. Please allow me to remain in your esteem a little while longer._

She scoffed. _You know all of my failures. Surely you cannot fear that I will cast you aside when I learn about one of yours?_

 _Your failures have been mine as well for the last two millennia – most of them, at least – and none of them has been as colossal as this one._

She sighed, but this was no time to argue. There were more important matters to discuss, and to consider in peace. _Keep your secrets, then, if you wish. I will ask more when next we meet. Now tell me, what do you plan to do about the ring?_

 _Send it to Rivendell with its owner for now_ , Olórin replied promtly _. There, we will have to decide how to carry it to its destruction._

Galadriel shuddered. She knew, of course, that it was the only thing to be done with it, yet knowing also what it meant... _That is no easy task,_ she said simply.

 _No, but I know of some who have at least a chance of success. But this cannot be my decision alone, and as I say, we will consult it in Rivendell._

 _Well then._ Galadriel paused. He seemed unwilling to say any more. _Have you notified Elrond yet? I see his mind is not joint to ours in this._

 _No, but I will let him know presently._

She scowled, realizing the reason for this. _You will tell him what you refuse to tell me, will you not?_

Olórin sighed. _Is it my fault, my friend, that it is your esteem that I most fear to lose?_

 _If something, it is mine,_ Galadriel returned, thinking of Celeborn's concern after she had told him the truth about Celebrían – and also of Elrond and his lack of confidence. _I seem to forever be giving my loved ones the impression that they are not good enough for me, while I never thought that about any of you._

 _Then let me not give you cause to begin. I will speak to Elrond now_ , he added and the presence of his mind disappeared from hers.

It left her with a feeling of vague disquiet, but it was pushed aside by the much larger concern.

The one ring. The one ring was found, and if Olórin's plans went well, it would be destroyed.

She wished she could shy away from what it meant, but here, in the middle of Lothlórien, she could not.

All of this, she knew, would die.

All of the realm she had spent millennia in, building, nurturing, protecting, would be lost forever.

The thought threatened to overwhelm her, added to her other woes, and she had to draw from the reserves of her strength to keep herself together. _At least this time it would be a price for the fall of Sauron_ , she told herself, _not his work. Surely the fate of this realm would be a fair price to pay to avenge your first one?_

The thought did not help as much as she would have expected.

But in the end, there was nothing to do but to continue her task, and so she pushed her sorrow deep inside to where so much of it dwelt and went to work.

She contemplated whether she should call the council of Lothlórien. After some consideration, though, she decided they did not need to know – not at this juncture, at any rate. She only touched the minds of Celeborn and Feliel, calling them to her company.

"What is it, my love?" Her husband asked, arriving first. "I can sense your mind is heavy."

"Allow me to wait for Feliel, please – I wouldn't wish to have to share this twice."

He nodded his assent and simply came to embrace her, giving comfort even though he did not know what it was he consoled her from. Feliel did not take long, and once they were both present, Galadriel relayed what she had learned from Olórin.

"But that's excellent news!" Feliel cried, and then, frowning as she looked at their faces, she added: "Isn't it?"

"If it meant the ring'd be destroyed soon, and Gorthaur with him, it'd be excellent indeed," Galadriel replied tiredly, leaving her private concerns aside. "But unfortunately, at this point, the chances of successfully transporting it to Mordor are slim even when we discount all the temptations it would present for those who carried it, and it being discovered by one of us rises the chances of Gorthaur finding it as well."

"With the little folk? I'm not so certain," Celeborn muttered.

"You're correct that if it had to be found in some place, that was the best possibility except, perhaps, the bottom of the ocean. It's reassuring to see the hand of the One in something as well, not just the ever-present Doom. Still..." She sighed. "His fingers are long these days. I wouldn't be too sure." The less they concerned elves, the less Galadriel could understand Sauron's plans that she saw in his mind, but there had been a mighty stirring recently, and coupled with this information, it made her greatly worried.

Feliel left not long afterwards, when it was decided that no particular practical measures were needed at this point. Celeborn, however, stayed.

"Something worries you, even apart from the difficulties of destroying the ring, and what it would mean for us."

"Yes," she admitted. "I worry about Mithrandir – I suppose I have for a time now. But it seems very vain, for my only reason for this worry is that he keeps things from me that he never used to before."

Celeborn frowned. "Do you know why?"

"He usually gives a plausible enough reason, but the fact remains that there used to be no such reasons. Ever since he came to Middle-Earth, even though he did not remember me, he was completely open to me about everything. For the last few centuries, however, he's changed."

Celeborn considered the problem. "Do you believe he could be becoming more like the Children, owing to his long stay in a body?"

"It has occurred to me, yes," Galadriel admitted. "I'd regard it as a great pity, but still if that was the worst, it'd be very good news."

He gave her a concerned look. "You fear something else?"

"I have no particular suspicions. Just...worries."

Celeborn nodded his understanding, and spent some time cheering her before he returned to his own work. Galadriel, however, stayed in contemplation, the ring of power at its centre.

What if, she asked herself, it was not destroyed? What if it was found too impossible a task?

What would it be like, she wondered, if she could wield it?

She knew she could not, of course. She knew it was precisely the sort of temptation she was vulnerable to. She had all of Avorneth's research at her disposal, after all.

And yet, if she could...she imagined what the attack on Dol Guldur would have been like, had she had it at her disposal. How much sooner it could have taken place. How Celebrían would never have been in any danger.

It was this last thought that caused grief to intrude upon the speculations, and she shook herself. Better not consider things that could not be. She needed to prepare for what was actually to come, and with that in mind, she headed towards her mirror.

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Weeks passed as Galadriel tried to wait patiently for news from Elrond, giving one of the little folk enough time to set his affairs in order and travel to Rivendell. But still, time marched on and there was no word about the ring being there, so finally, not wishing to disturb Olórin, she touched Elrond's mind with an impatient question: _Has_ _Mithrandir_ _arrived with the ring yet?_

 _No, and I do not expect him for a long while still,_ came the calm answer.

 _Why? What happened?_ Galadriel asked, alarmed.

Elrond seemed confused. _Nothing, as far as I am aware. But he told me to expect them in the autumn._

 _In the autumn?! Has Olórin gone insane?_

 _I asked him why the delay as well,_ Elrond conceded _. He said it was necessary to arrange the departure of the ring owner so that it is not too noticeable – he is a person of some renown there – and that it was the owner's wish to depart so late. And, well, you know the dangers of pressing anyone with the ring. It can turn out ugly._

 _Leaving the ring lying in the open can turn out much uglier,_ Galadriel grit out. She took a deep breath to calm herself. In any case, it was hardly Elrond's fault, and it was useless taking her frustration out on him. _I suppose as long as Mithrandir is there to keep watch, it should be safe enough,_ she said. _Still, I will contact him. He must have known I would not approve, and that was why he did not tell me._

However, when Galadriel tried to touch Olórin's mind, she found it impossible. Both through the rings and without them.

Her alarm grew, and she turned her thoughts back to Elrond. _Have you been in touch with_ _Mithrandir_ _recently?_ She asked.

 _Not for at least a month, no. Why?_

 _I cannot contact him. Will you try?_

Elrond did, and when it was impossible for him as well, their minds grew dark with fear.

 _I will send a messenger to the Shire immediately_ , Elrond said. _We have to know what happened._

Galadriel fully agreed, and blaming herself for not contacting Elrond sooner, she waited impatiently for weeks again.

Her worry increased manifold when the news from some of her scouts in border lands of Lothlórien reached her: the Ringwraiths have been spotted riding again.

 _Where are you, Olórin?_ She asked urgently, desperate. Had she not known him so well, she might have suspected his fall, even, for disappearing at such a time was conspicuous indeed. But as it was, it was impossible. She saw his mind and knew his thoughts. As a Maia, he could not hide them well except by Unwill. Had she tried, she would have been able to discover all the things he refused to tell her. She had not done so, out of respect for their friendship, but now was beginning to regret she had not. If the Ring was sitting, unprotected, against the Ringwraiths...they were all doomed. She spent days alternately pacing her flet and checking the Mirror for a sign of a new disaster coming their way.

And the news that came from Elrond, when they finally did, were terrible. The messengers have finally found the home of the ring owner. There, they discovered that Olórin was no longer in the Shire...but the ring still was.

 _And the Nine is riding out again_ , Galadriel repeated in horror, even though she had told Elrond before. _The ring-owner, whoever he is, is in terrible danger. Send a guard to him a_ _t_ _once,_ _beloved, and let us pray it will be enough._

 _Of course. Nine such that remember Aman will go for him and bring him here_ , Elrond agreed. _There is no time to lose._

Galadriel knew there was no point in her sending riders of her own, but she walked to the mountains and called to Gwaihir once again.

"We look for the Grey Wanderer," she said, "and we fear the worst. If your people saw him anywhere..."

"We will look," Gwaihir promised simply.

Galadriel returned to her forest in a restless mood. She had done what she could, but it seemed pitiful.

The days that followed were full of tightly wound anxiety, expecting the news that would pronounce the end of their world daily. Galadriel began to plan the best ways to coordinate elven escape to the Havens, and how far her own power could stretch without her ring. She knew she had no hope of defeating Sauron who had the One ring on her own. Even with Lord Laurefindil by her side, her hopes of victory were small. And there was the problem of even gettign the opportunity in the first place – he commanded large hosts, and while normally orcs hardly presented a barrier for Galadriel at all, it was a little different when imbued by the ring's power. And who knew if the ring would not be enough to get the remainign dragons on his side...it had not been the last time, but it could change.

First, she would need to cover the escape of her people. She could consider a doomed journey to Mordor once that was assured.

Still, the idea kept re-emerging in her mind – dying alone, far from the light and all that loved her, like her uncle had. It was a relief when, about a fortnight later, she finally succeeded in contacting Olórin. His mind seemed out of focus and he was not truly answering her, but she could see through his eyes, at least, and realized he was riding north from Rohan – news that confused her greatly, for what was he doing so far away? But he was alive and safe, and that calmed her. If she had to face Sauron with the Ring on his finger, he would stand by her side, she knew.

It was at least some hope to hold onto when more terrifying news came: Elrond heard from Gildor, saying that the ring-bearer was on the road with only three Hobbit friends, and that the Nine was pursuing them. _And Gildor let them leave alone?_ Galadriel asked incredulously.

 _You know he wants nothing to do with the great wars since the Last Alliance._

 _Yes, I do know – but saving one who is pursued by the Nine...surely anyone who has any compassion left would do it!_ _And after I begged for his help, too!_ Galadriel shook her head. _It is things like this,_ she said, _that show me how deep the Noldor have truly fallen._ Macalaurë's lament sounded in her head, and she shook it again to clear it. What was happening to all around her lately, she wondered? But she could contemplate that later. Now it was time for direct action. _What do we do?_ She asked Elrond.

 _I sent all of those who remember Aman that were left here to look for them, including Laurefindil. I truly hope the Enemy will not choose this moment to attack Rivendell, for I would find it very difficult to defend it._

 _The Enemy has other things on his mind now, I believe, and I can help distracting him if you wish._

Still, the fear pressed on them both and it was only partially alleviated when Olórin arrived safely in Rivendell. Only two days later, when Galadriel heard that the ring was secure there as well, could she finally let out the breath she seemed to have been holding forever and drop into exhausted sleep.

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 _This is the clearest case of the guidance of Eru that I have ever seen_ , Elrond told her soon afterwards. _Since the ringbearer's arrival, Glóin with his son and a delegation came_ _from the Lonely Mountain_ _, as well as messengers from Mirkwood, Denothor's eldest son from Gondor, and Galdor from_ _Lord Ciryatan_ _. We are to decide the fate of Middle-Earth, and_ _representatives_ _of all the free peoples of Middle-Earth are here._

 _Are you certain you wish to decide it in council?_ Galadriel asked doubtfully, seeing the image envisioned in his mind. _Our experiences with that are not the best, are they?_

 _They are not, but we need to provide some explanation of what is happening, and there will be no Curunír in this council to turn it sour._

 _Maybe not, but there might be others like him._

There was a moment's pause, then Elrond said: _You have not spoken to Olórin yet?_

 _No – it appears mind speech is still difficult for him for some reason._ Even though there were more important matters to think about, Galadriel still found herself worrying about her friend almost constantly since he first disappeared. _I wanted to ask you what happened._

She could sense the explosion of bitterness and even anger in Elrond's mind as he replied: _Curunír wants the ring for himself, that is what happened. He imprisoned Olórin in Orthank after our friend refused to help him._

There was a long silence on Galadriel's end. _I...I never thought he went that far,_ she said at length, shocked. Such a complete betrayal...it is not that she had never considered the possibility. She had, many times, but only when the ghosts of Hollin haunted her, when she doubted whether he had truly been sent by the Valar. In her more reasonable moments, she recognized it was only her past speaking over her future, and that such worries wee not based in reality.

It had never even occurred to her that he could be sent by the Valar, and yet betray them all so profoundly.

But why had it not, she wondered? Was not The Enemy dear to Eru once? If he could betray, why not anyone else?

 _None of us did,_ Elrond replied heavily to her observation.

 _Yes, but I should have,_ Galadriel inevitably thought, and mentally waved Elrond aside when he began to protest. _I know, beloved, I know. But if any of us was in a position to see it, it was me – I was the most suspicious of him, after all._

 _One would rather say it should have been Mithrandir, for he was the closest to him._

Galadriel frowned, but she could not exactly argue with that. After all, it had been Olórin's task to find out what Curunír was after. _But how did_ _Crurunír_ _get_ _Mithrandir_ _to Orthank_ _anyway_ _?_ She asked Elrond. _He is not strong enough to be able to abduct him, and_ _besides, if he had, he would have had the ring now._

 _...that, I believe, is the part Olórin does not wish to tell you,_ Elrond replied after a moment of silence.

 _Why?_

 _He is ashamed. He...I try to be compassionate towards him, but let me be honest with you: he made many mistakes in this. So many that I wonder...I have healed him when he came here, from the spells that Curunír put on him that addled his mind and made it impossible for him to mind-speak. I cannot tell if some of the damage was there before, but...he had been alone with Curunír many times. There is some chance that…_

 _Having the kind of power you talk about over someone is not easy, and it was never precisely Curumo's provenance._

 _No, but he does have that voice of his, and this would not be entirely dissimilar._

Galadriel shook her head. _It would,_ she said. _I have consulted the matter of his voice and the way he uses it with someone who knew him in Aman. It is_ _not_ _the same way of controlling by speech that Feanárö did, or that I could do had I put my mind to it. His voice is_ _n_ _ot merely a vehicle for his will. He uses the voice itself as a tool of control. The practical effects are very similar – with_ _one_ _exception: it is harder to make it last longer. From what I know, he never showed any talents for a long_ _-term_ _control of mind, contrary to Sauron or The Enemy himself._

Elrond sighed. _Then I do not know, for this was truly the only explantation I had for such a strange behaviour of Mithrandir._

 _He is fine now?_ Galadriel wanted to reassure herself.

 _Not entirely fine, as you discovered when you tried to contact him, but his thoughts are back to being clear at least, even if he cannot mind-speak yet._

 _Very well then._ _That at least gives me hope, and I will speak to him as soon as possible_. She paused. _About the council...if_ _you insist on having it, then I would naturally like to be present in your mind._

 _Of course – I never even considered anything else._

Galadriel nodded. _But if_ _there_ _are going to be_ _Mirkwood envoys present, avoid making any mention of me,_ she added _. No need to antagonize them._ She paused _._ _What do you plan to achieve?_

 _Well...you know who must carry the ring._

 _Yes,_ Galadriel replied with a deep sigh _. Even the mirror shows that now._

 _I feel grieved by that,_ Elrond admitted _. It will cost him his life one way or another, you know that._

 _Yes, beloved, I would rather I could carry it, or some of the others responsible for its existence, than putting the burden on an innocent member of the little folk...but you know it is impossible._

 _Of course. You cannot leave Lothlórien._

She gave a short laugh. _That is not the reason and you know it. I would never withstand the temptation._

 _Aunt…_

 _No. There is no point in trying to dispute it. Resisting taking it by force is one thing, and I do believe myself equal to that – now, at least – but if I was given it...I would fall, and I would fall deep. I do not want you to have such great illusions about me._

 _They are not illusions – I simply trust you._

Galadriel did not reply, but the thought she repressed was: many did – and most of them are dead now.

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The council took place a few days later, and was exactly as productive as Galadriel had expected it to be. She could see why Elrond thought it was the best way to arrange the events, and yet – when they knew their course was right, what point was there in pretending they were consulting others about it? When the council would have simply continued on until everyone agreed that destroying the ring was the best course of action, and the unfortunate Frodo was the one to do it, however long it took?

If she could at least believe that Gondor would accept things more easily this way, there would have been some discernible benefits – but she could see the doubt in the steward's son's mind even when only looking through Elrond's eyes. He had yielded to the majority vote, but he was not convinced.

She was pleasantly surprised, on the other hand, by Thranduil's son. She had expected him to be much like his father and grandfather before him, short of temper and prejudiced against all Noldor, but it seemed his mother must truly be a wise woman, and that she must have taken care to pass on the wisdom to her son, even though she did not steer her husband in politics in any way. Legolas spoke most unlike Thranduil – reasonably and kindly, without expressing outrage where he could, and with no distaste for his company showing, not even when one of Thorin's dwarves protested their treatment in the Greenwood court so long ago.

In fact, of all those who spoke in the council – excepting, naturally, Elrond and Olórin – Prince Legolas spoke perhaps best. It seemed wonders would never cease. Mayhaps there was hope in that, for more peaceful relations with his homeland after the war was ended.

Others she might be less pleased with, but whatever objections Galadriel might have had against the council, it reached its ordained conclusions, and there was nothing truly serious to complain of.

The composition of the fellowship Elrond and Olórin had in mind to accompany the ring, however, was much more of a difficult subject.

 _Mithrandir and Aragorn, certainly, they have to go_ , she agreed when Elrond consulted with her. _Frodo, naturally, is the key member, and as the one called Samwise appears greatly loyal to him, it is perhaps wise to send someone with him whom he truly trusts and knows well, to provide comfort. Glóin is a decent choice for the dwarves, I suppose, though I do not truly know him. But the rest? Prince Legolas for the elves? He is the heir of his father, and you know perfectly well what Thranduil would think of such an idea._

 _That is precisely why I wish for him to go, Elrond_ replied. _Legolas is willing, and such a journey would open his mind to the world that has been kept from him until now. He told me he had begged his father for this mission, to finally see the world beyond the borders of their realm and its nearest vicinity. He is curious and willing to learn about Middle-Earth. Should we not provide some more valuable teachers than Thranduil?_

 _Whatever I may think of Thranduil,_ Galadriel returned, _I would never begrudge him the right to protect his young son from the intrigue of others._

 _I am asked to sacrifice the life of my child on the altar of this cause,_ Elrond replied sharply. _I do not see why less should be asked of others._

Galadriel took a deep breath. There was scarcely anything she could say to that. It was not a reasonable argument, of course – it was bitter and tinged with pain – but any opposition would just hurt more.

She recalled, with unpleasant detail, the eve Arwen had decided her fate. She had spent most of the preceding day with Aragorn, and late in the night, when he slept, she came to speak with Galadriel, tears streaming down her face.

She did not need to say a word for Galadriel to understand, and she was by her granddaughter's side in a heartbeat, embracing her tightly.

"What do I do?" Arwen asked, sobbing. "How do I speak to my father now? How do I look him in the eye, even? That I would abandon him for someone I barely know..." Then her grief grew to heavy to speak, and Galadriel kept holding her, her mind on Elros those millennia ago.

Arwen had cried the night through, but in the morning, smiling and beautiful, she went to speak to her betrothed as if nothing was wrong in the world, and Galadriel could not help but dislike him a little more for that.

To her fell the task of informing Elrond, so that he could welcome his daughter back with tolerable composure. She would have preferred to go to Rivendell in person, but lately, in spite of Aragorn's efforts, the world was too dangerous again for her to leave her realm, and besides, she did not like the idea of leaving Arwen alone. Still, she was deeply worried when she called Elrond, and it was with bitter apology on her lips that she told him what had happened.

He did not blame her, exactly, nor was he exactly angry with her, but she could feel the little spark of a feeling of betrayal in his mind as he told her, in a hollow voice, that he understood and that fate spared none of them their pain.

The days that had followed were some of the hardest in Galadriel's life, and she had had some very hard days. When sun was up in the sky, she had to watch Arwen walk her realm with the Man who would cause her death by her side, seemingly utterly ignorant of what sacrifice was being made for him. During the night, she had to console the weeping Arwen, over and over again, and reassure her that her father did not blame her. Of that, at least, she was certain enough.

She was grateful for small mercies – Aragorn did not seem interested in speaking to her, so she did not have to pretend warm feelings towards him. Celeborn was in a different situation, but his pain was less sharp – he was less close to Arwen, and even less to Elrond, whose pain was the chiefest in this. He could bear talking to Aragorn with patience, though sometimes it frustrated even him.

It was immeasurable relief when Aragorn finally left, even though that meant another month of healing Arwen's sorrow before she felt ready to return to her father and Galadriel could tend to her own. Ever since then, there was a hidden strain in her talks with Elrond, a knowledge of blame on her side and of betrayal on his.

She could feel it there still, in these days when the end was in sight, and that was why she said not one word in recrimination to his bitter words.

 _Prince Legolas could be a hope for better cooperation with Greenwood after the war. If you send him on this quest, the hope is lost._ she said instead. _And_ _I doubt_ _Prince Legolas_ _is particularly powerful. Would it not be better to send Lord Laurefindil, for instance?_

 _I am considering it,_ Elrond replied. _I thought of sending two of each race, but Mithrandir tries to convince me to put more trust in Frodo's hobbit companions._

 _He wants to send them?_ Galadriel asked in shock. _Does he_ _detest_ _them so much?_

 _I believe he sees the sign of Eru's will in their presence here, just as I do with Legolas and that is why I believe he should go._

 _And is it the same with Boromir, too?_

 _Yes._

Galadriel sighed. There was little that could be said to the argument of divine guidance, and yet she wondered. Could they truly trust themselves that they read the signs so well? Or would the fellowship miss Lord Laurefindil's strength in some crucial moment, causing everything to be lost?

She tried to consult her mirror, but it stayed stubborn silent on everything except who would bear the ring.

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AN: Listen, film!Aragorn is weird in many ways, but one thing that can be said for him is that he fully appreciates the sacrifice Arwen is making for him. The book one seems to be pushing her into it, which….seriously, dude?


	96. Test

AN: Large chunks of text in this chapter are taken directly from The Fellowship of the Ring, just with the language adjusted so that if flows more seamlessly with my own writing. So credit goes to JRRT, and sorry I had to ruin his unmatchable style.

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 **Chapter 96: Test**

 _Year 3019 of the Third Age, Lothlórien_

Galadriel was preparing to receive the ruling ring in Lothlórien.

Even the idea itself was disquieting.

It was not that she feared Sauron learning of it and attacking – as long as he did not have the ring, she was confident enough in her ability to hold her realm – it was that she feared its influence. She would have to carefully limit the amount of time she allowed the Fellowship to stay in her realm, for the longer they did, the bigger the temptation would be.

She would also have to pray.

Until that time came, though, she tried to distract herself with preparations. Elladan and Elrohir had come two months ago, ascertaining how safe the journey was and collecting some things from her to give the travellers for their journey. Too many useful ones, however, she did not have enough time to prepare, and so she busied herself with it now, as she expected the Fellowship's arrival to her realm.

They would be given lembas as a natural due to any such valuable guests, but Elrond had asked for the rope only the Silvan of Lothlórien could make, so that was commissioned, and then Galadriel began to consider what other things she could give them to make their journey easier.

What lay ahead of them was darkness, and so the best what she could give was light. This consideration led to a short consultation with Túron and a commission given to him. She had hoped she would be able to give a little of the light of her fountain to each member of the Fellowship, but it turned out it was a more difficult task than she had anticipated.

"Or perhaps," Túron said, "if Lady Avorneth was still on this shore, she could have envisioned an easier way to achieve what you need. But I cannot, and what you ask will take me all the time until the Fellowship arrives, just to produce one small receptacle."

"Even that is more than I could manage," Galadriel replied. "I am thankful to you for your assistance, truly."

"It is my pleasure, my lady," he replied, and Galadriel returned to her flet considering her own statement. 'More than I could manage'. It was, truly, but was there something she, personally, could actually manage and that would be helpful for the Fellowship?

After some time spent in thought, she remembered the skill she had learned from Lady Melian so many years ago, and which she had taught to her handmaidens in turn. They could reproduce it to some degree, but none could copy her own proficiency fully, and so with a heavy sigh at the time it would require, Galadriel nevertheless gathered them together and began to weave.

It was a skill that required patience and careful attention to detail, and she could never spend too long in it before impatience overwhelmed her and she had to leave for a different duty. But still, if she wanted the cloth to be as efficient at hiding those who wore it as possible, she had to direct the weaving in person. The cloaks they were making would never hide anyone from elven eyes or from eagles, but from all others they could, and it was a skill only she possessed.

So she wove, and as she did, she considered the approaching group. The presence of the ring was not the only thing that disquieted her. She did not look forward to seeing Aragorn again – she bore him no ill will, but every look at him reminded her of the fate of her granddaughter, and every word out of his mouth grated on her nerves – and there had not been a dwarf inside the forest of Lothlórien ever since the realm was founded by Amdír, and probably not even before. And Prince Legolas, while he made a good impression in the Council, could turn out to be much less friendly in the land of the Nolde his father so despised. And then there was Boromir, of course, so filled with discontent about the goal of the mission.

She was very thankful Olórin would come with them, for he, at least, was someone she could look forward to without any reservation.

Yet he was also the one who needed the least preparation. Prince Legolas required the most. She meant to welcome him as was due to a royal guest and to give him gifts to support any chance there might be of improved relations with Greenwood. But this consideration led to the question of whether she should not have something for the others as well. Certainly Gimli, an envoy of the people who had lived so near to her for so long, should receive something, and Boromir was almost a prince as well; and then there was the message Elladan and Elrohir had brought from Arwen, that she wished Galadriel would give Aragorn the Elfstone as a bridal gift.

She resented it – there were no words for how she resented it. The Elfstone belonged to her beloved Itarillë, and to Ardamíre who was like a son to her. How could she give it to this Man who did not speak except to offend her?

And yet Arwen asked it of her, and Arwen would die soon. How could Galadriel deny her any wish she might have?

But it made her decide even more firmly that she would need to give gifts to every member of the Fellowship. She did not intend to make it seem that she singled Aragorn out of particular affection.

With that thought in mind, she reached for Olórin's mind to ask what he would recommend she prepare...and found that she could not, once again, reach it. And when she asked him to try, neither could Elrond.

 _P_ _robably simply a relapse of the condition he had been in previously_ , Elrond said, but she could tell he was worried. So was she.

She tried to occupy her mind by other things, but she felt the fear for Olórin intruding, constantly, incessantly, every hour into every one of her occupations.

Finally she felt Aragorn cross the boundaries of her forest, and others with him – yet Olórin was not one of the company. Her worry changed into terror, but she squashed it down ruthlessly. Now was not the time. Instead, she advised Celeborn to send a host, for along with the Fellowship she felt evil at the edges of the forest.

"It might be wise to send a word about the guests as well," he pointed out. "A dwarf is with the company, and you know that the Sindarin...views of dwarves have spread among the Silvan as well in the last few millennia."

She grimaced in memory of that. "And the view of the royal family of Greenwood, too, is unfavourable," she added. "If they recognize Prince Legolas, he could have almost as much trouble as Gimli. Yes, by all means, let me send a word."

She did, and arranged for the Fellowship to be brought to the central flet at dusk of the next day to give herself enough time. She invited the council to be present at that memorable occasion, and then she went to look into her Mirror to make certain there was not something important she was unaware of. The Mirror showed her nothing, though, and so she finally felt justified in retreating to her flet, where she gave herself leave to give in to her worries for a time at least.

The idea that Olórin had fallen on their journey...it seemed unthinkable. He who went to Dol Guldur three times, he who travelled length and breadth of Middle-Earth, to perish on the way from Rivendell to Lothlórien, a journey traversed so often by her envoys...it was absurd. Especially as the others have clearly survived, so it could hardly be explained by Sauron somehow discovering their quest and sending his troops to destroy them. Besides, if that had been the case, she would have known.

No, there was no explanation for this – and yet what other answer was there to him not entering her realm with the rest of the Fellowship? Surely, even now when he made so many strange decisions, he would not abandon the company? Or – if he did – would it not raise even more fears than if he simply perished? Fears of a different kind of fall?

And so she made herself think the unthinkable for a time, and wept as she tried to come to terms with the idea, in the hopes that she could remain calm when presented with final confirmation of this fate.

When the sun reached its zenith the next day, however, she went back to work, preparing for the arrival of the most important guests in the history of the realm.

"They'll need rest from their difficult task, and encouragement," she told Celeborn. "But there are many among them who are likely to distrust us - Thranduil's son, and Gimli, and the son of the Gondorin steward. We have to lay their fears to rest, or they'll never find the relief they need here."

He gave her a look. "If you're telling me all this in preparation for a request to treat the dwarf with courtesy, I assure you, I'm capable of controlling my suspicions when this much lies at stake."

She smiled at him. "I know you are. I'm telling you because I'll need a bit more than that from you." She hesitated. "I need to see their hearts, to make sure there's no immediate danger to the quest."

He frowned. "My love..."

"I know that doing that is dishonest, and yet – they carry the ruling ring. We need to know. I need you to take care of the welcome, to keep them occupied and in a pleasant mood while I examine them."

"I'm not sure that I'm quite charming enough to make them not notice what you're doing," he pointed out archly.

She shook her head. "They'll notice, that much is inevitable. I need them not to turn around and leave as I do so."

"Are you certain it's worth the risk?"

She sighed. "In truth, it's mostly the steward's son I worry about. But it seems to me it'll be more acceptable to him if he finds out I examined everyone the same way – he'll see it less as a personal slight. I dare not leave his mind untouched. If he's a direct danger to them, they need to know."

Celeborn considered this, then inclined his head. "Can I tell Feliel?" He asked then. "I'd like to enlist her help if something unexpected happened."

Galadriel gave a nod of assent and he left to do so. She, meanwhile, turned to her wardrobe, contemplating what dress would best suit welcoming the group.

Her natural tendency would have been to honour the occasion with one of her old royal robes, in rich green or red with plenty of gold to decorate it. But she was about to insult Boromir's pride – it would be better, for that, to look as inconspicuous as possible. And perhaps to set their mind at rest, too, it would be easier if she resembled some of the ladies more suited to this task rather than herself.

She took out a white dress that she always wore in remembrance of someone – Irissë, and Melian, and later Elwing and Celebrían as well. This day, it would be the memory of Melian on her mind as she played the good and kind queen for her guests.

Then, she retreated to the enclosure with her mirror, to settle her mind and regain the balance she needed for what she expected to be faced with. And when the sun approached the horizon, she headed to the central flet, to wait with her council.

The ringbearer came first. Even if she had not seen him in the Mirror and through Elrond's eyes, she would have recognized him by the doom coiling around him. Then there was Thranduil's son, whom she would have recognized easily for how alike in face to his father he was. She gave Aragorn only as short a look as she could, to spare herself the pain and anger he always brought out in her. Gimli, on the other hand, was of more interest. He did not seem as contrary as she would have expected from a dwarf brought to the middle of a nominally Sindarin forest, which gave her hope. Two of the Hobbits were mostly cheerful, and the one called Samwise was worried. Boromir, when she saw him in person, did not reassure her in any way. Yes, she would, indeed, have to examine him carefully.

There was a shadow hanging over all of them, too, a shadow that turned her dark fear into almost a certainty.

As she contemplated them, gathering the initial impressions from the very surface of their minds, Celeborn took care of the welcome, and then, casting a worried eye over them, asked the question that burned in both of their minds: where was Olórin? She joined her own question to his, speaking for the first time, unable to prevent herself from giving vent to some of her worries.

"Alas!" Aragorn replied to their query. "Gandalf the Grey fell into shadow. He remained in Moria and didn't escape."

Darkness crept in the edges of Galadriel's vision, horror and grief pressing into her at this confirmation, in spite of her earlier mourning. _No!_ She told herself sharply. _Not now. You cannot give it to it now._

To ground herself, she listened to Aragorn's recounting of the story of Olórin's fall, and her horror slowly changed into incredulity. They had passed through Moria...but why? Why would Olórin do such a thing? It explained his death in some ways – if something in this world could kill him, a balrog certainly could – but it made it only more mysterious in some others. He had known what she believed dwelt there. Why would he choose such a road?

That it was, indeed, a balrog was confirmed by Prince Legolas, who must have seen them in his father's mind to be so certain. Galadriel recalled her fear that the absence of Lord Laurefindil would be felt at some juncture. How bitter it was, to be proven right in this of all fashions!

She was not the only one provoked to anger by the news of this seemingly so unnecessary death. But Celeborn, as ever, was less skilled at keeping his bitterness hidden, and so he spoke his anger to their guests. Galadriel gave a soft sigh and a light calming touch to his mind. She understood him, but this company was too important even for this, and she would have to smooth over his harsh words with such that, she knew, would inevitably hurt him. But even for that concern, this was too important, and so she spoke.

She spoke to the Fellowship, chiefly, but her own feelings coloured the choice of what she said. "If our people had been exiled long and far from Lothlórien, who of the Galadhrim, even Celeborn the Wise, would pass near and wouldn't wish to look upon their ancient home, though it had become a home of dragons?" She said aloud, but Lothlórien was not what she was thinking of. Rather it was its model, where she had talked long with Olórin, and the beauty of Tirion upon Túna. And it was Doriath, too, for Celeborn, where she remembered too well how he longed to go after it was taken over by The Enemy's monsters.

She turned to Gimli, then, against whom Celeborn's words had been most sharply turned, and added: "Dark is the water of Kheled-zaram, and cold are the springs of Kibil-nala, and fair were the many-pillared halls of Khazad-dum in Elder Days before the fall of mighty kings beneath the stone."

She smiled at him, and he rose and bowed. "Yet more fair is the living land of Lórien, and the Lady Galadriel is above all the jewels that lie beneath the earth!"

In her mind, Galadriel grimaced a little. _A great friendship must bind them with_ _Aragorn_ , she thought. There was not much kind she could say to that, and she had no wish to be unkind, and so Celeborn spoke instead, the time she gave him by her speech and the rousing touch of her mind enough to bring him back to himself, and he apologized.

Gimli seemed almost entirely mollified, but most of the group, she could see, still looked at them with such suspicion it wouldn't be conclusive to her peacefully gazing into their mind. And so Galadriel let the tiniest amount of her power drip through her voice as she began to talk of Olórin always planning for the Fellowship to come to Lothlórien, and about the years she and Celeborn had spent fighting against the darkness.

Then she hesitated for a moment, but she felt the warning was in place, and so she looked at Boromir fully. "Your Quest stands on the edge of a knife," she said. "Stray but a little and it'll fail, to the ruin of all. But hope remains while all the Fellowship is true."

And then, as they were surprised and confused, she used it to easily slip into their thoughts.

She started with Boromir, and did not like what she saw at all. He was not all bad, his loyalty to his father and Gondor was fierce, but he was proud, proud beyond measure. _It is just my bitter experience that makes me compare all I doubt to Fëanáro?_ She wondered. Yet this was pride born of fear and despair, and Galadriel saw, very clearly, that there was nothing Boromir would give precedence to over saving his realm. Not even his own pride, which was something, at least.

She looked into Aragorn's mind, allowing herself what she had denied the first time she met him, though she had desired to do so then as well. She was not much surprised by what she found there. Aragorn loved her granddaughter, with steadiness and certainty that came through the Flame of Eru he had been blessed – or cursed? - with thanks to her. He would go through the pits of Angamando for her. One thing he longed for now was the company of his kin, in which he could find some consolation. He had his own kind of pride, too, for being the heir to the old kings, but with it went a lot of fear also, about failing the way Isildur failed. Yet she found no traces of that tendency in him, and the fear, she thought, might be useful in checking it should it appear. She withdrew from his mind before she caught thoughts she did not need to know, and which would be less pleasant.

Legolas was next, and entering his mind, her astonishment grew. First, she knew he could have closed his mind against her, but he did not, seeing what she did to others and opening his heart to her. How could this be the son of Thranduil, she wondered? She found nothing but steadfast dedication to his task, to the promise he gave, and he only regretted the thought that should he die on this quest, he would not see his parents again.

Galadriel moved on to Gimli, and there she found desires that greatly surprised her. There was a wish for a realm of his own, a desire so similar to hers those ages ago that she almost withdrew. But she had to see, and had to tempt, and the pull of it was very strong indeed for Gimli. A good thing that this particular chance was unlikely to offer itself. His other desire was a more straightforward one – he was falling in love with Legolas fast, and at a different time she would have perhaps wondered at this marvel of Eru, to put a dwarf and an elf together, but now her mind was too preoccupied even for that. And this this desire put the quest in no danger.

The Hobbits were very much alike in what would tempt them to give up the quest, all of them uncomfortable so far from home, and longing for its comfort. And that, too, she could understand, for small that they were, their homesickness was not so dissimilar to the great lady's longing for Aman. _May you, at least, be allowed to return_ , she prayed for them and turned her eyes to Frodo.

Her heart bled for him as she saw his despair and grief and pain, and fear, too, but also determination to carry out his task until the very end. To the others, home was still a very real possibility. To Frodo, it seemed to be lost in shadows, as the journey ahead was. What he dreamed of was any kind of deliverance, end to his torture without any particular shape.

Finally she withdrew and smiled at them, trying to reassure as much as she could after such an intrusion. "Don't let your hearts be troubled," she said. "Tonight you'll sleep in peace."

-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-

Only once Galadriel was safely in her flet, with only Celeborn to give her company, did she let go of the tight control she held herself under and wept bitter tears for her friend while her husband held her.

It was still unthinkable that he would be dead. She had gone without him for a very long time, of course, but that was when she knew he was safely in the West, walking in peace in the gardens of Lórien. But now...what now? What happened to a Maia when he died in a body? She was not sure. Perhaps, much like an elf, he would appear again in Aman? Or would he join the choirs of Ainur at Eru's side, never to set foot in middle-Earth again? The idea terrified her, and provoked another bout of bitter weeping.

She could not imagine facing the world as she knew it without him.

The end would come, she knew – either with Sauron's victory, or with the destruction of the Ring and thus end of Lothlórien. It would come, and she would dearly need the support of someone who was not as sharply hit by those things as all others close to her.

"I knew I would lose him soon enough," sh she told Celeborn with tears streaming down her face, "for once Sauron falls, he would no doubt have returned West, but I hoped so much that he would be here at least for a time to help me..." she hesitated, but there was no point in shying away from what would come sooner or later. "Help me into fading. It would have been easier to leave this world with him by my side."

Celeborn, at a loss for words, merely tightened his embrace.

It took her days to push her grief back again, and only then she could concentrate on the other things that needed to be done.

She searched out Legolas, and found him in Gimli's company, to her joy.

"My friend's been unexpectedly charmed by your kingdom," the Mirkwood prince said when he noticed her, "so I've been explaining to him how forest realms work and showing him around, with the help of your people."

"That's very kind of you, and I'm sure some of my people'll be glad to take care of him for now as well. I'd like to speak with you, Prince Legolas."

Gimli gave the young elf a look, and to Galadriel, he said: "I'm not so certain, my lady, of the welcome of your people. I've been enjoying Legolas' tours, but they seem startled when they see me, and I don't, I confess, understand forest dwellers."

She smiled. "Then let me get you different company," she said and looked around. "Brethilel!" She called to one of the passing elves. "Will you get Túron, please?"

The elf ran away, and Galadriel explained: "Túron is one of the few smiths of Hollin who still remain in this land. He knew the dwarves of Khazad-dûm before it was lost to Durin's Bane, and I'm certain you'd have much to talk about."

"Did _you_ know them, my lady?"

"I did. Don't you know the history of your folk? I was the Queen of Hollin in that time, and I knew many of Khazad-dûm's kings, and walked through its halls often. But so did Túron – and here he comes!" She smiled at the elf and nodded towards Gimli. "Here is one of Durin's folk interested in their history. I hoped you could share some stories with him."

"Gladly, my lady," he replied with a smile and a bow, and Galadriel nodded to Legolas and led him to her flet.

"Please, take a seat, Prince Legolas," she said, pointing to one of her comfortable chairs. "How fares your father?"

"As well as he can in those difficult days." He paused, and gave her a surprisingly sharp look. "Why have you brought me here?" He asked.

She sighed. "Please, don't think that I'm trying to make you betray your father's confidence, but I'd like to hear what your father's told you about me first. And don't worry, I have some idea, and am unlikely to be offended."

Legolas contemplated her for a long while, and at length, said flatly: "My father told me that the fall of Doriath and the death of King Dior and his family was your fault, as well as the death of his father. He told me that you want power for yourself, and will stop at nothing to gain it."

Galadriel took the news calmly, for they were, in truth, not news. "And yet you open your mind to me. Why is that?"

"Well...I've always wondered. The tale as my father told it raised many questions, and I do understand that there are at least two sides to every story. Besides, my mother has warned me about Father's grudges. My father is strict, it's true, but he's just and kind-hearted – except to dwarves, and to you. I know that he distrusted Mithrandir and Elrond on your account, and Celeborn and Amroth as well, and when I met some of the Rivendell envoys that came to Mirkwood from time to time, he was opposed to our friendship on these grounds. I convinced him in that respect, but still, his prejudice remains. I'm sorry for that."

"So am I, for it had led to much evil." She raised her hand. "No, I don't blame your father – or not much, at least. It's what he was raised in, and there was much pain in his life. I wouldn't mind that he made it all easier by blaming me, if we weren't both rulers." She paused. "I told this to Amdír when I first crossed the mountains, still as a Queen then: we can have our personal grievances, but as rulers, we have to act responsibly towards our people."

Prince Legolas nodded. "My mother has told him the same."

"Has she?" Galadriel asked, surprised.

"I've heard it but once," he amended, "after her parents died at the hand of the creatures from Dol Guldur. I gathered she believed that had he cooperated with you more, such death could have been avoided." He shrugged. "I don't know whether she was right, but it's made me wonder about you. Could you have helped?"

"At that point? I don't believe so. But your mother is right that had there been no animosity between your father and me, we could have cast Gorthaur out of Dol Guldur much earlier, and many things would have been different then." She paused. "I'd like you, if you return home, to bring my offer of peace to your father. He won't speak to me in person, and even when we sat in White Council together he avoided me. Perhaps your mother could become my advocate."

Legolas nodded thoughtfully. "He did seem to take her words to heart – I believe you may stand a chance. I can write letters to them from here, if one of your messengers would bring it to Greenwood," he said.

Galadriel inclined her head. "I'd be very grateful, Prince Legolas. You are more willing than I could have hoped you'd be."

He smiled a little. "Well," he said, "when you examined my mind, you couldn't quite keep yours shielded, could you?"

-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-

Galadriel knew Celeborn spoke with Aragorn at length – she herself did not quite had the heart for it – and so, there was only one task left.

She waited for a moment when Frodo was almost alone, only in company of his gardener and friend, and searched him out. Then, she led them both to her Mirror, and gave them the choice to look.

The Ringbearer seemed hesitant, and only more so when his friend regretted giving in to his curiosity after the fact. He saw his home destroyed, it seemed. It was alarming even to Galadriel – the Shire was far west, and if the Enemy reached there, it did not bode well for the result of the war. But it was just one of many things she pushed aside and deep, to contemplate later, when she did not have immediate problems to catch her attention.

"Do you now wish to look, Frodo?" She asked instead. "You didn't wish to see Elf-magic and were content."

"Do you advise me to look?" He questioned.

That, of course, was why she brought them there...and yet now she was not so certain. She knew he could see things tied to him, things that would give her valuable clues as to the future, its risks and dangers. But Samwise was thrown by what he had seen, and above all she needed Frodo not to falter. What if what he saw was too much? "No," she said. "I don't counsel you one way or the other. It's not my task – you must make up your own mind. You may learn something, and whether what you see is good or bad, it might be useful...but it might not. Seeing is both good and dangerous." She saw his indecisiveness, and after a moment of consideration, added: "Yet I think, Frodo, that you have courage and wisdom enough for it, or I wouldn't have brought you here. Do as you will!"

"I'll look," he said at length, after another moment, and bent over the mirror. When, after a while, he started to lean in, she knew what was the image he saw.

"Don't touch the water!" She said softly, and when his eyes turned away from the Mirror, she added: "I know what it was that you last saw, for that's also in my mind. Don't be afraid!" Yet he was, she could see it on the very surface of his mind, the fear that Sauron would find him here, pluck him out of her realm easily, and in spite of herself she had to smile at such little faith in her defences.

"Don't think that only by singing amid the trees, or by the slender arrows of elven-bows, is this land of Lothlórien defended against its Enemy," she told him. "Even as I speak to you, I perceive the Dark Lord and know his mind, or all of his mind that concerns the Elves." It seemed Olórin had told him something of how mind-speech worked at some point, for at this she could see in his mind another fear, that of her own thoughts being revealed, and she shook her head slightly, even as she let him see a little of her power to make the reassurance stronger. "He always tries to see me and my thoughts. But that door is still closed!" She extended her hand with Nenya towards Mordor as if to physically push away the dark power she could sense, and saw that Frodo noticed her ring.

"Yes," she said, "it isn't permitted to speak of it, and Elrond couldn't do so. But it can't be hidden from the Ring-bearer, and one who's seen the Eye. Truly it's in the land of Lothlórien upon the finger of Galadriel that one of the Three remains. This is Nenya, the Ring of Adamant, and I'm its keeper. He suspects, but he doesn't know – not yet."

Though his suspicion was near enough to certainty, she knew, and if he ever gained the ruling ring, he would turn towards Lothlórien first. "Don't you see now how your coming is to us like the footsteps of Doom?" She asked Frodo. "For if you fail, then we'll be laid bare to the Enemy. Yet if you succeed, then my power will be diminished, and Lothlórien will fade, and the tides of Time will sweep it away. We must depart into the West, or dwindle to a rustic folk of dell and cave, slowly to forget and to be forgotten."

He seemed taken aback at this depiction of the bleak future that awaited her and her people. "And what do you wish?" He asked her.

 _I wish I could go home,_ she thought, _that I did not have to fade alone in this world far away from most I love_. But aloud, she said simply: "That what should be shall be." She shook her head – speaking of herself was too dangerous, and so she turned the conversation to her people instead. "The love of the Elves for their land and their works is deeper than the deeps of the Sea, and their regret is undying and can't ever wholly be assuaged. Yet they'll cast all away rather than submit to Sauron: for they know him now." She sighed, and did her best to give him a reassuring smile even through her melancholy and grief. "You're not answerable for the fate of Lothlórien. You're only responsible for your own task."

"But still," he insisted, "if you were to make a wish?"

She scoffed. "I could wish, were it of any avail, that the One Ring had never been wrought," she said, thinking of Tyelperinquar. "Or had remained for ever lost," she added a little more quietly. It was a less noble wish to utter, for with the armies diminished their chances would have been small to destroy Sauron even without the ring...but oh, how she wished. With such ache in her heart.

"You're wise and fearless and fair, Lady Galadriel," Frodo answered after a moment, "and I don't wish to see you or your realm fall. I can't unmake the One Ring, or make it lost again, but I'll give it to you, if you ask for it. Surely with it, you could defeat the Enemy and keep your realm, and it's too great a matter for me anyway."

Galadriel's eyes widened as she took in his words, and suddenly it was all here, all she ever wanted, within her grasp. She could not help it, she laughed. "Wise the Lady Galadriel may be," she said, "yet here she's met her match in courtesy. Gently you're revenged for my testing of you when we first met. You begin to see with a keen eye. I don't deny that my heart has greatly desired to ask what you offer. For many long years I had pondered what I might do, should the Great Ring come into my hands, and behold! It was brought within my grasp." She shook her head. Of course she could not have expected she could have the ring in her realm without temptation. "The evil that was devised long ago works on in many ways, whether Sauron himself stands or falls. Wouldn't that have been a noble deed to set to the credit of his Ring, if I had taken it by force or fear from my guest?" That she knew she would not do, that test she had passed in Hollin already, but this...

"You'll give me the Ring freely!" She repeated, still incredulous, the possibilities running through her mind. Her realm saved, the elves remaining in this world, Sauron defeated, and she, she would finally have a crown no one would ever take from her. "In place of the Dark Lord you'll set up a Queen," she told Frodo, seeing the future before her, as clear as day. "And I shall not be dark, but beautiful and terrible as the morning and the night! Fair as the Sea and the Sun and the snow upon the mountain! Dreadful as the storm and the lightning! Stronger than the foundations of the earth. All shall love me and despair!" She thought of all she lost that she could regain, of all the could build that she could not before...with the Ring in her power, she would crush Sauron and his followers, she could bring Thranduil to heed without having to rely on his son's intercession, she could crush Saruman for his betrayal and set the Steward of Gondor to right...she could rule the way she deemed just and right, over all of Middle-Earth...the woes and pains of the world would be gone, burned away by her anger and vengeance...there would be no need of more kings, and so Arwen would change her mind, for there would be no need or her to marry Aragorn any more...and here Galadriel's mind stuttered to a stop, for she realized that if Arwen did not marry Aragorn, she would sail with her father, sail even though the elves could stay, or she would wish to go to her mother – and Galadriel though of Celebrían beyond the Sea, whom not even the One Ring could bring back, and she thought of Olórin who now hopefully dwelt there as well, and all the others. And suddenly she realized that to see Aman and all her loved ones there was truly all she wanted, at this point, for any thoughts of kingdoms seemed insignificant compared to that. And the ring would not help her achieve that, and the thought diminished its hold over her, enough to realize that she could not, would not, for the power would be too great and would corrupt her in time, perhaps not for years, perhaps not for centuries, but it would, in the end. And she lowered the hand she did not remember raising.

She blinked as she looked around, for she had forgotten where she stood for a moment. _I resisted_ , she realized as if in a daze. _I resisted the ruling ring being offered to me_. She laughed, incredulous. "I pass the test," she said in wonder. "I'll diminish, and go into the West, and remain Galadriel."

But then, of course, she remembered she could not.


End file.
